


Of Phantoms And Angels

by Lady_J (Hey_Its_Jo)



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: Andrew Lloyd Webber - Freeform, Drama, F/M, Music, Mystery, Opera Ghost, Paris - Freeform, Romance, The Phantom of the Opera - Freeform, opera - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:47:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 36,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27378949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hey_Its_Jo/pseuds/Lady_J
Summary: Lilienne LaClaire is a fish out of water, so to say.  No matter how hard she tries, she just can't fit in at the Paris Opera.  She minds her own business and works hard to perfect her dances for Mme Cartelle — the strictest of  dance instructors.But, never has she been bothered by the whispers about the Phantom of the Opera- what was there to fear of a man who hides in shadow?  So, there is nothing to be afraid of when they come face-to-face, deep in the abandoned corridors of the Opera.…Lilienne LaClaire is someone the Phantom would never bother with, under normal circumstances.  But never before has he met someone who is not afraid by the mention of his name.  Fascinated by this quietly brave girl, his eye seems to train on her a little too long.…Will Lilienne learn to find her way?  Will the Angel of Music adopt another pupil?  Is there another who can see past his mask?
Relationships: Phantom x OC
Kudos: 14





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!
> 
> Of Phantoms And Angels is my first publication on AO3, which is exciting and terrifying. But, today is sorta-special, so what the hell.
> 
> This work is originally published on Wattpad, where it is my most popular fic. Regardless, I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Here goes nothing ~ Lady J

I knelt in front of my parents bed, watching their sleeping forms in the moonlight that drifted in through the one small window. Their backs rose and fell with their shallow breaths — they looked so peaceful. So oblivious to our situation.

At the foot of their bed, the gurgling noises of a baby sounded within the cradle. I quickly stood as my mother stirred, reaching in to stroke the silken hairs on my baby sister's head. I hushed her, before my parents could wake, crooning gentle words to the little one.

"Shh... hush baby. I know you're sad, but you won't be for long. I'm going to take care of you; you're the reason I'm doing this. Shh. Don't worry, you'll see me again, someday."

With that, the baby settled back into her slumber, and I placed a kiss on her soft forehead, careful not to disturb her. With both my hands I grasped the small suitcase that lay on my stiff bed. It didn't weigh much, for I had few belongings to place within it. As I opened the crooked door, I looked back; all my family, sleeping soundly. I smiled, wanting to remember them this way forever.

I stepped out into the cold night, my thin cloak providing little relief from the chill in the air. But I ignored it. I had to press on. I dared not look back as I walked down the street, away from my house- or, what was my house, when I lived there. _Ma mère_ would be so sad, she would probably cry for days. _Mon père_ would search long and hard. And my baby sister, she would never know _sa sœur_. But I couldn't think about all this. Not now. It was too late.

My family couldn't support us all — they thought I, at eleven, couldn't understand this, but they were wrong. I knew full well what was happening, I understood the tense whispers behind my back, or when they thought I was asleep in the bed across the room. But I know. And now I'm going to do something about it. I knew what I had to do, and there was no other way.

I won't be able to send them much, but every franc will help, and maybe one day I will be able to come home to a house that isn't so worn down. This is what I clung to as I disappeared into the night.

<><<>><>

The sky was a dark shade of blue, the first light of day stretching across it. I walked the unfamiliar streets, my feet aching, my whole body numb from the cold- at least the stinging had gone away.

It had taken all night, but I was finally there. I had made it to my new life, and it stood before me in the form of an ornate building. Mustering all the strength I had left, I climbed the grand stairs to the even grander doors, hoping with everything in me that they would answer my knocks.

I banged on the door as hard as my tired, cold body would let me, calling to those inside, nearly begging to be let in. I was desperate enough to beg, by this point. I only needed some warmth, perhaps a cup of tea...

I don't know how long I stood there making a fool of myself; as long as it took for my body to slide down onto the snowy steps in defeat. I wrapped my thin little cloak around myself, shivering uncontrollably. Perhaps this was all for nothing, perhaps I would fall asleep on these steps and die in the cold. I was so tired...

Suddenly, the doors opened, warm light flooding the streets. Grabbing my suitcase I clambered on my knees inside, into the warmth. I looked up to thank whoever had welcomed me in, but they were nowhere to be seen. Disappeared. The doors closed behind me by some invisible force; just the wind, certainly.

<><<>><>


	2. I. Madame Cartelle

Lilienne sat on the dusty wood floor of the dance hall among the other ballerinas, with wisps of hair escaping their tight buns and a flush across their faces; a typical mid-practice composure. They took this blessed opportunity to unlace their slippers and gingerly rub their feet, relaxedly gossiping on the dance hall floor.

"Alright, ladies, on your feet! Ten minutes is up!"

That was Madame Cartelle's signature greeting to her students. It was always a wonder to the young dancers how she managed to emanate such exhilarating energy, even after their fourth hour of dance. All the girls retied their slippers and pulled themselves _en pointe_ , withholding their groans- everyone knew how Mme Cartelle felt about groaning.

" _Vite! Vite!_ If we don't get started, then you can all stay until midnight! Into your previous formation!"

They all ran about, putting themselves in position to rehearse their opening number in the opera Hannibal, Lilienne fitting herself in and raising her arms in delicate wait. Mme Cartelle counted them in, then sat the way she did- reclining against her desk with her hands behind her back, eyes narrowed into slits and lips pursed as she critiqued their every movement- every turn of the ankle, every bat of the eye. She shouted her abuse as they danced.

"Marcella, lift your arms! Gabrielle, turn out those feet! Annette, you look like a chicken with your knees bent like that! Come ladies, you must keep your rhythm!"

Which was exceedingly difficult on sore feet while she yelled over them. Finally, when she'd had enough, she cut them off. They all dropped to the floor, half listening to her as they nursed their feet.

"You call that dancing? How am I supposed to present you in the opera next week? Clearly you've not been practicing."

"But we have been." One girl, Brigitte, spoke up, "We've been practicing for hours everyday. We think all the numbers are perfect."

"Perfect, eh?" She raised an eyebrow in her menacing way, "An art so fine such as ballet can never be perfect. So, I suggest you keep practicing- unless you want a bad review next week. And remember; if it doesn't hurt —"

"— You're not doing it right." All the dancers finished for her. It was a phrase which she ingrained in them from the beginning, and one which they all hated, for it often sent them to bed with an aching body.

"Now, out of my dance hall! I have another class."

She mercifully shooed them away. All the girls sorely stood, gathering their things and walking exhaustedly and dejectedly from the hall, chattering amongst themselves.

"The blisters just won't go away..."

"This is the third pair of slippers I've danced my way through this season..."

Lilienne listened to it all as she gingerly pulled her slippers from her feet, carefully binding them with the laces. Walking more on her heels, she began to stumble from the hall, trailing behind her fellow classmates.

"Oh Lilienne, would you stay for a moment?"

The voice of Mme Cartelle gripped her from behind, making her freeze. Lilienne's stomach dropped like a stone as she turned about to face the strict, thin faced woman- it was never a good thing when Mme Cartelle wished to speak to you alone. She timidly approached her teacher.

" _Oui_ , _Mme Cartelle_?"

She spoke in her quiet manner, and the woman took her time with her, examining the girl up and down as she walked in slow circles around her. Lilienne's heart quickened and her sore muscles tensed.

"You have been working very hard, I can tell."

"Yes, Madame."

"But you are not progressing as I had hoped."

"I have been trying very hard, Madame." Lilienne kept her head bowed and her eyes averted.

"I moved you up to the advanced class because I thought you could handle the challenge. Can you handle the challenge?" She stopped her pacing, and Lilienne could imagine the look on her face, demanding and skeptical.

"Yes, Madame."

"If I don't see improvements, you will be moved back down with the novice class."

"Yes, Madame."

"You are dismissed."

" _Merci_ , _Madame_."

With this, Lilienne finally hurried from the dance hall. The younger girls were just beginning to arrive, and she pushed through the crowd of tutus and tights. She ignored how her body hurt and the threat her teacher had just made, concentrating solely on returning to her room.

Once returned to the safety of her quarters, she collapsed onto her bed, first sliding her thin tights down her legs, then unwrapping the dampened bindings from around her feet. She removed her frilly skirt and leotard, sighing in relieved satisfaction as the air met her warm skin. She let it prick at her exposed body as she hung it all up together, cooling and calming her.

She slipped a fresh pair of stockings over her legs and pulled a dress about her; it was simple and modest, in a faded blue that buttoned down the front and tied into a bow at her back. She brushed out her hair and tied it back in her standard braid before slipping her feet into a pair of comfortable shoes.

She left her room again- lunch would be served by this time, and she knew that everyone who wasn't trapped in a rehearsal would be gorging themselves; so Lilienne, a book in tote, ventured the opposite direction of the performer's dining hall. She scampered through narrow corridors and up several creaking flights of stairs until she could hear none of the noise.

She sat in utter relief, feeling for the first time today at ease. She hated meals because everyone was crammed close together. She hated dancing in front of the other ballerinas in class for fear of their judgments. So, in all the years she'd lived in the Paris Opera, she'd learned to escape it; to find those secret and secluded places where nobody knew to look for her. Calmness overtaking her, she slid to the floor, crossing her legs and opening her book, relishing in this small freedom.

<><<>><>


	3. II. A Change In Management

Lilienne flew through the corridors of the opera house, her costume askew and her shoes in her hand — she could not be late to a rehearsal. She was never late for anything, but it seemed as if today the world could not fall in place for her, and a series of misfortunes had sent her racing down the halls to the stage.

As she ran, she was too preoccupied to notice the people in her way. As she rounded the corner to the front of the opera, she ran straight into something hard — or rather, someone.

"Whoa, there, are you alright?" The voice was male, and Lilienne guessed that it belonged to the man whose chest she was staring at as he steadied her.

" _Oui, monsieur_. I am so sorry —" She looked up to him, now; he was young, dressed finely, with a kind smile. He cut her apology short.

"That's quite alright, _mademoiselle_."

"Do you not have a rehearsal to attend, Mlle. LaClaire?" M. Lefèvre, the manager of the _Opéra Populaire_ , looked scoldingly down his nose at the little dancer.

"My apologies, _me_ _ssieurs_."

Lilienne ducked her head apologetically and continued to run on her toes into the theatre. Everybody, musicians, dancers, chorus and actors alike were already on stage with the director — M. Armand — and Mme. Cartelle. Lilienne scurried into place, sitting to tie on her slippers, hoping no one had noticed her near-late entry. She had just enough time to catch her breath before the musicians started up the opening number. 

The dancers all scurried into position, finding their places and opening the opera, the chorus weaving around in the background. It was always so different, to Lilienne, dancing on the stage; in the dance hall where they practiced it was tedious and dull, but on the stage, there was something about the lights and the sea of seats that thrilled her. Whenever she danced on the stage, she knew she belonged here, no matter what the others thought; no doubt they'd grown accustomed to her, but she'd never exactly fit in with the exotic lifestyle of these artists. She'd always felt ill-at-ease around their noisiness and drinking and snogging.

They ran through the beginning scenes, the director shouting advice and corrections, the Prima Donna listening to none of it, and the manager observing from a low box, chatting with three other men, two of whom she'd never seen around the opera before, but the third was the young man she'd so ungraciously run into. Partway through the first act, M. Armand called a break.

The entire cast heaved a sigh and M. Armand left to talk to M. Buquet above, whose job was lighting and backdrops. Lilienne watched as the manager and his three guests appeared on the stage.

"Ladies and gentlemen," M. Lefèvre began, capturing their attention, "I'm afraid that this will be my last opera with the Opéra _Populaire_ , as I will be retiring." The performers looked about themselves, whispering surprisedly. He gestured to the two men Lilienne hadn't recognized.

"These are Messieurs André and Fermin, who will be taking my place. As well, the Paris Opera has a new patron, the Vicomte de Chagny." He smiled politely, and for just a moment Lilienne's eye caught on his and he gave her an amused smirk. Lilienne tried to conceal her blush.

"Alright, that is enough introduction for now. Dancers, in position. We will take it from the top," Mme. Cartelle interrupted. Everyone fell back into place, Lilienne clasping the prop chains of the slave girls around her wrists.

They all went through it again, dancers intermingling with the chorus, and the Prima Donna Carlotta took front and centre, singing over everyone. Everyone rolled their eyes behind her back, as they always did; the woman was so full of herself it was nearly pathetic.

Screams caused the music to come to a screeching halt as the backdrop came loose and fell, the dancers tripping over themselves in shock. It landed on Carlotta, and everyone rushed to her rescue — not that many really cared. Some stayed behind and sniggered, and others she heard whisper of the Ghost. Carlotta came up screaming.

"You should count yourself lucky, _Signora,_ " Joseph Buquet of lighting called down, "The Phantom of the Opera has done much worse to lovely ladies like yourself!"

"That is enough, Joseph," Mme. Giry called up.

"He likes to wrap his rope 'round your pretty little necks and squeeze until your face turns blue and your eyes pop out of your skull." Buquet pulled his eyes wide. Some of the young dancers let out horrified gasps- even the grown men seemed uneasy.

"Joseph Buquet, hold your tongue!" Mme. Giry shouted with a stamp of her cane. He disappeared among the catwalks with a sinister chuckle and a wink to the poor little frightened ballerinas. Lilienne just sighed — the Phantom of the Opera had never done anything worth fearing since she'd been here, so she'd never bothered to be afraid of this legend.

"No! No! You are all stupid apes! Piangi, come, we are leaving!" Carlotta ignored all of this, storming off the stage with dramatic tears streaming down her face.

" _Signora, signora_ , please," the new managers implored, "these things do happen..."

"No, no no! _'These things do happen'_ ," she mimicked, " _ma no!_ These things do not happen! Bring my doggie! I leave! Piangi! I leave now! I leave for real! Piangi!!"

With that, she and her entourage stormed off the stage, and MM André and Fermin looked completely out of their depth. Lilienne felt a stab of pity for them. M. Lefèvre gave an exhausted sigh.

"Good luck to you, gentlemen. If you need me, I shall be in Australia."

He left the theatre, purposefully avoiding the direction the former Prima Donna had taken.

"What are we going to do? We'll have to refund an full house..." M. André exclaimed, and she thought she heard M. Fermin mutter something about failing before they'd begun.

"Excuse me, _m_ _essieurs_ ," a woman from the wings made herself visible. Mme. Giry, a concierge, stepped forward from the shadows. Lilienne had always found her to be alarmingly mysterious, but for several years, her and her daughter had been the closest thing she'd had to a family.

"Mlle. Daaé could sing the part."

"A chorus girl?" The new managers seemed almost offended by the woman's proposal.

"Ah, but she's been taking lessons. She has a great teacher." The way she said this sent a shiver down Lilienne's spine.

"Really? Whom?" They eyed the brunette curiously. Christine Daaé stepped forward.

"I don't know the name..."

"Very well," M. Fermin sighed. "From the aria in the third act."

The music swelled around them and the whole stage was still as they waited on the chorus girl. And then she sang.

Her voice was smooth and sweet; the complete opposite of Carlotta's, and everything the Prima Donna had lacked. Lilienne watched her as she sung, and she felt an uncomfortable blend of emotions; she felt a heart-warming beauty, and just a tinge of jealousy. She envied the young woman for her voice and the attention of her tutor. Not that Lilienne had been one to seek attention- she tried hard to avoid it. But she felt green inside, wishing to be the owner of such beauty and magnificence. But she knew it wasn't to be — Lilienne LaClaire was of little consequence.

Everyone's eyes appeared to go damp, and it was obvious that tonight's show would be a success.

<><<>><>


	4. III. Ghost Stories

Lilienne sat cross-legged on her bed in her night dress, her book in her lap, a couple of candles to chase away the dark night outside. Two of the girls she shared the room with sat on their own beds, also in their sleep wear, giggling in that nervous yet excited way.

"Can you believe what happened today?" Minet, the girl in the bed across from Lilienne, asked the third girl, Pauline.

"No! I can't believe it was actually him! Right above us!"

"He tried to kill the Prima Donna..."

"Do you think he'll try again?"

They laughed and giggled and shrieked with fear and thrill over the ghostly man who they believe to have attended the rehearsal today. Lilienne sighed, audibly, but they took no notice- she'd never taken to superstition.

"Maybe he'll come right to the dormitories to try again." Minet suggested, casing Pauline's eyes to widen, "Can you believe we were so close to the Phantom of the Opera?"

"No! It was terrifying!"

"What do you think, Lili? Where you scared?"

Her neck snapped up as Minet spoke her shortened name. She sat, eyes wide, choking on her words.

"Well, I guess I just don't believe in ghosts..."

The other girls just laughed at her. In years of being at the Paris Opera, she had heard many a ghost story about the Phantom of the Opera. They were intriguing, but that was all. Lilienne had never found anything to be afraid of. After all, what was there to fear about a man who hid in the shadows? People always got themselves in a tizzy when he made a ruckus, but in Lilienne's opinion, they were all overreactions.

There were several more minutes of Minet's and Pauline's giddy chat, interrupted when the fourth and final girl who shared the room came in — Camille. She was, as usual, accompanied by a boy, and tonight her victim was Léo Jacques, who worked as a set constructor. Each girl in the room knew what this meant; Camille brought a new boy back to her room every other night, and when she'd run out of new boys, she reused her old favourites, and they all took turns.

Minet and Pauline scrambled from their beds, giggling furiously, but Lilienne moved much more slowly. She closed her book and seized her robe from a hook above her bed, tying it about herself before leaving into the dim corridor. She saw Minet and Pauline duck into Amie's room, who was a close friend of theirs, but Lilienne walked the other way. She walked silently _en pointe_ , slipping into the kitchen — empty, now, near midnight. Lilienne filled a basin with water and lit the stove.

She was careful to cover her tracks, not wishing anyone to know of this secret pastime of hers. She lugged the basin of hot water up a set of disused stairs, along with a second basin of cool water. She hauled them all the way to the very top of the opera house, to the roof.

Finally tucked away from prying eyes, Lilienne heaved a sigh of relief, placing the water basins down. She pulled a metal tub out from behind a pillar- the case of the missing wash basin. It had been hilarious to watch them run about, all in a fuss over this simple item. They'd blamed it on the Phantom.

She removed a robe from the tub, kept there as always for after, and replaced it with both basins of water. Then, slipping her loose night dress from her body, she sunk into the warm water and tied her light blondish brown hair up in a knot with a ribbon. Lilienne sat back, immersed in the water to her shoulders, looking out over Paris.

The city was beautiful, probably the most beautiful city on God's Earth, in Lilienne's opinion. It sat in the crisp of early winter, glowing so brightly through the night that she hadn't needed a candle. Her breath looked like a small cloud when she breathed, floating up to vanish into the night sky. But she didn't feel the chill within the warm water. 

This was a savoury event for Lilienne, reserved for only the times when she deserved it. This being the final rehearsal, Lilienne thought she had. She sat in the warmth, watching Paris shine from above, completely and utterly alone. It was a feeling of power, to be able to look upon the whole city while no one could see her. She had many secluded hiding places, but this was her favourite of all.

As she soaked in the warm water, she reached a hand up to touch something that glinted in the dark, the light of Paris igniting the gold- it was a locket that hung around her neck and fell against her breastbone. It had been a wedding gift from her father to her mother, and inside were two pictures, one of each of them; Lilienne had always marveled at the looks of pure and innocent happiness- they were young and in love, and all the troubles in the world didn't so much as turn their heads; the same expression she had watched on their sleeping faces on the night she left. How the times had changed. Lilienne had taken it that night and had worn it ever since, as a reminder of why she was here.

She stayed this way for several hours, it seemed to her, and as the water began to cool in the winter's night, she stepped from the tub and wrapped her robe about her body. Then, as quietly as possible, she slipped back into the opera house.

<><<>><>


	5. IV. Voices In The Dark

Lilienne slipped like a shadow through the opera house, back down to the dormitories. She figured that Camille would be properly asleep by now, and that it was safe to return to her bed. She needn't a lamp, for the way was committed to her memory. Finally reaching her room, she looked upon the door, standing like a statue, her hand outstretched to grasp the brass handle. But, she didn't.

Turning, she continued through the corridor, treading on light feet and being careful to avoid the floorboards that creaked. She wandered down until she reached the grand entrance in the front, the shadows obscuring and marring it's beauty; the whole place looked different when lit by the colder light of the moon.

Lilienne slipped into the theatre, treading through the seats and climbing up onto the stage. She turned and looked out over the imaginary audience, though she was alone. She was safe. She found a matchbox in the back and struck it, lighting one of the stage lights along the front. A faint glow seeped across the stage.

_Think of me,_

She opened her mouth, the words flowing out without hesitation. There were no ears to hear her, here, so she couldn't make a fool of herself.

_Think of me fondly_

_When we've said goodbye._

_Remember me_

_Once in a while,_

_Please promise me you'll try._

No one had ever heard Lilienne sing because, well, she was a dancer. She'd never received instruction or training; her voice was raw and untamed, and she hoped nobody would ever have to hear it.

_When you find t_ _hat once again you long_

_To take your heart back and be free,_

_If you ever find a moment,_

_Spare a thought for me._

But as she sang, all her fears melted away, and the more she sang, the less she cared what it sounded like; pure or out-of-tune was all the same to Lilienne. It was all beautiful.

_We never said_

_Our love was evergreen,_

_Or as unchanging as the sea;_

_But if you can still remember,_

_Stop and think of me._

At this, she thought she heard a violin pick up the line to accompany her, and she suddenly shied away, her voice becoming quiet and timid- if they knew she was on the stage by herself after hours, she could be in quite a lot of trouble.

_Think of all the things we've shared and seen —_

She looked around the theatre to find whoever was playing for her, but she couldn't find anyone. Slowly, she found herself backing off the stage.

"Do not stop."

There was the voice of a man, speaking over the violin. Instantly, without knowing why, Lilienne obeyed, walking back to the front of the stage and back into the light of the candle. Her voice was feeble and faltering, now that she knew she had an audience.

_Don't think about the way things might have been..._

"Don't be shy — sing for me!" The voice commanded. Suddenly, a voice which did not seem like her own sprung forth from Lilienne's throat. A beautiful and powerful voice she hadn't known she'd owned.

_Think of me,_

_Think of me waking,_

_Silent and resigned._

_Imagine me,_

_Trying to hard_

_To put you from my mind._

"Open yourself to the music!" The man's voice echoed over the stage, giving her orders. She did her best to keep up, trying harder with each note. She did as he said, digging deep within herself to bring out her voice. Now she wasn't just singing, but she moved around the stage, her arms extended and her eyes half closed in a dream-like state.

Lilienne didn't know at what point the world had dissolved around her.

<><<>><>

There was the banging of doors, and Lilienne was jolted awake as dozens of people flooded the theatre. Amidst the bustling of noise and chatter, her foggy mind couldn't make out what had happened.

"Mlle. LaClaire?"

"M. André? M. Fermin?" She ran her hands over her eyes, then through her tangled hair that had fallen from its braid.

"What the devil are you doing out here?"

As her mind finally began to make sense of things, she noticed that everyone had halted and stared at her where she lay on the stage floor, still only in her nightdress and robe. 

"You didn't spend the night on the stage, did you?" M. Fermin asked.

"I... I'm not sure..." And that was true — yes, she must've fallen asleep on the stage, but she couldn't remember anything.

"The poor girl," Mme Giry stepped forward, speaking over her in the tight and patronizing way that only she could, "she must have had a long night. Meg," 

"Yes, mother?" The blonde ballerina stepped forward.

"Take Mlle. LaClaire up to her bed, please. She will need her rest for tonight."

Meg rushed forward and helped Lilienne up. As she escorted her out of the theatre, the rest of the performers filed in to begin rehearsal. The noise grew quieter as Meg led her away from the stage and back up to the dormitories.

"What were you doing, sleeping on the stage?" Meg asked. in Lilienne's years at the opera, Meg Giry was the only person to ever bother with her. She watched over the younger dancer like a mother, taking her under her wing. Lilienne shook her head in response to her question — she was still trying to remember it for herself.

She left Lilienne sitting on her bed. Lilienne fingered her locket again as she tried to go back to last night; she had bathed on the roof, she had walked past her room, she had been singing on the stage. Then, there was a violin and the voice of a man. Then, there was nothing.

Lilienne sighed; it was just a dream. It had to be. She must've grown tired while singing and had fallen asleep. The man and the violin were just a dream. They couldn't be anything more.

Rubbing the back of her neck which ached from sleeping on the hard stage floor, she looked out the window to the bright Paris morning. Then, her eye caught on something. Below the window was a small table the four girls used as a vanity. Among the rouges and bottles of perfume was a single red rose.

Lilienne stood slowly from her bed and stepped toward the table. Timidly, she took hold of the rose's long stem. With her other hand, she delicately fingered the velvet petals and the black silk ribbon that was knotted around the stem in a long bow.

She ran back to her bed and knelt under the hooks where her few casual dresses were hung. She slipped the curious flower into the sleeve of one of the dresses- she didn't know what had prompted her to hide it, but something about the bud seemed to be an unspoken secret.

Laying her head back on her pillow, she tried to set her thoughts elsewhere to allow herself some proper rest; Mme Giry was right- she would need her rest for tonight, the opening night of _Hannibal_ \- but the faint echo of a violin rang in her ears and she could still feel the presence of the man who'd spoken to her. _Dreams. Just dreams. You'll forget them in time._

<><<>><>


	6. V. Disappearing Act

Lilienne gave one last pirouette before skidding off the stage to get out of the way for the next scene. It was opening night of _Hannibal_ , and everyone was running on adrenaline. Lilienne was practically shaking, not of fear, but of thrill.

The audience adored them, cheering and clapping enthusiastically after every scene, laughing along with the humour. Lilienne wasn't a crowd pleaser, but she certainly loved pleasing these crowds. She loved hearing their appreciation and knowing her hard work had payed off.

She followed the others off-stage, ducking back into the wings where everyone stood in wait. She passed Christine, who was waiting in front. Her scene was next. She looked beautiful in her full white gown that would sparkle and glow under the spotlight. She also looked like she could double over and vomit.

"You will be marvelous," Lilienne whispered in passing with a reassuring smile. Christine smiled back but in a tight, nervous sort of way. 

Everything settled on stage, the lights changed, and Lilienne came to stand beside Meg Giry, daughter of Mme. Giry, as Christine walked out. Everyone waited with baited breath and stopped to watch her.

The music swelled around the theater, and then came her voice. It was clear and gentle, hesitant at first, but as she reached the change in key, everything lifted- including her face. The more she sang, the more beautiful the song became, and if she was ever nervous before, Lilienne couldn't tell. A knot formed in her stomach as she was reminded that only certain people are special, though she couldn't help but be happy for Christine.

Her song ended, and the audience flew to their feet, wildly praising the lovely soprano. Even backstage, the cast and crew cheered. Christine was the exception, and the example; even a chorus girl can have a spotlight. All the understudies and stagehands took this to heart.

All the performers were crammed tightly backstage as the performance ended, stepping on toes as they tried to clean up. Lilienne hurried on her way, only enduring the crowd as long as she had to. Suddenly, she felt a hand on her shoulder. She turned to face Mme. Cartelle.

" _Oui, madame_?"

"You did well tonight." This was all the woman offered her before she left her alone again. Lilienne smiled and turned to leave.

"Oof! _Ah, monsieur, je suis tellement désolée —_ " Fate was not on Lilienne LaClaire's side. She had again run straight into the Vicomte de Chagny.

"We must stop meeting like this, Mlle. LaClaire. And please, call me Raoul — I'm your patron, not your boss," he said with a smile. Yet, he looked around distractedly.

"Very well, M. Vicomte de Chagny."

"You haven't seen Christine? Mlle. Daaé, I mean." He sheepishly corrected himself

"No, I haven't. You should check her dressing room." She replied, pushing past him to escape the nightmare of the claustrophobic backstage.

"I did, but she's not there, either. It's like she's disappeared into thin air." His polite smile faded to concern. Lilienne halted her escape, turning back to him just long enough to shake her head to tell him she didn't know where Christine might be.

Without any more distractions, Lilienne continued on her journey away from the crowds, trying to make herself as small and invisible as possible- an amusing challenge. But, with no such luck, she was not to be let off the hook that easily. From out of the crowd, a hand grabbed her arm, and Lilienne turned in surprise to see Meg Giry.

"Oh, Meg, it's only you..."

"Have you seen Christine? Nobody's been able to find her... my mother has been looking everywhere, and the managers are beginning to worry." 

"No. I wish I knew. The patron was looking for her, too..." Lilienne watched the concern as it furrowed the elder ballerina's brow. After her encounter with the Vicomte, it pricked in Lilienne's stomach, too.

With that, Lilienne gave an unknowing shrug and the two dancers parted ways. _Where might Christine go_? she thought. After such a success as hers, she couldn't imagine why the soprano would have fled. _Unless she didn't flee..._ This question gripped her suddenly, like an unexpected embrace, yet far less pleasant and more sinister. Lilienne tried to push this from her mind and focus on escaping the suffocating throngs of performers. Now more than ever, she needed room to breathe.

As she moved deeper into the opera house, she left the noise and bustle behind her and was finally released into sweet solitude.

Slowly, savouring the abnormal quietness, Lilienne walked in the direction of her room. She let one hand trail on the wall as she walked, her feet flat instead of _en pointe_ , giving her toes a merciful rest. She thought about how it would feel to throw herself onto her bed, to take the uncomfortable costume off, to fall asleep. And then, maybe she might dream. She also thought about the man- the one who played violin and walked among these dreams. She wondered if he might pay her another visit tonight. She wasn't sure if she dreaded it, or welcomed it.

Lilienne stopped and leaned on the wall, untying the laces of her slippers and pulling them off her feet. She sighed as she stretched her toes and rolled her ankles, letting the cooler air heal them. She stood straight and meant to continue on to her room, but when she looked up, she realized- this was not the right corridor. In fact, she had no idea where she was. She breathed a quiet laugh.

"I must've been so entranced by my own thoughts that I wasn't looking where I was going..." She said to herself. She continued forward, looking to find a way back.

"Talking to yourself is a sure sign of madness, Lilienne..." she smirked, "but I never believed that, anyway."

Carrying her ballet slippers, Lilienne walked briskly, intrigue spurring her on and growing in each step. This was a part of the opera house where she was sure she'd never been. She hadn't thought it was possible anymore. She faced each turn of the corridors like a mysterious secret, rounding the corners fearlessly and eyeing them carefully as she walked, as if she could know them.

She came to another corner. She hadn't thought twice about rounding it, but upon doing so, she thought that maybe she should have.

Standing mere paces in front of her was the shadowy figure of a man. He lingered there in all the power and mystery of his own presence. He seemed like a plume of smoke, as if he would no sooner evaporate, but he didn't.

His black cape billowed about him, and underneath he was dressed entirely in the same colour. Even his hair was black, and slicked neatly back from his face; this was the only contradiction, as his face was ghostly pale. Upon it sat a stark white mask, covering the left side.

But what Lilienne noticed was his eyes. The emerald green was dazzling, and they burned as they looked at her with such an intensity in their gaze that she felt that he could see straight through her to her very essence. Suddenly, Lilienne felt a wave of self-consciousness wash over her. But, she didn't move. She held her ground, and so did he. For several moments, neither of them spoke nor moved, they simply stood amidst each other as if frozen in that space.

" _Salut, monsieur..._ " Lilienne began, trying to hide the waver in her voice as she broke the deathly silence.

"Little dancers should know better that to wander the opera house alone."

Lilienne wanted to say that she was not afraid, but she hadn't the chance. She'd no sooner opened her mouth to speak than the dark man had disappeared with a swish of his cape. She was again alone in the back corridors of the Opéra Populaire.

She turned tail and ran back the way she came, not out of fear, but out of excitement. She didn't know what caused it, but a fluttering feeling bubbled up inside her chest, making the corners of her lips twitch upward. Soon, she was back in familiar quarters and burst into her room, out-of-breath and flushed in the face. Her roommates shared a look of surprise as they took in the sight of her.

"Lili, what happened to you?" Minet asked. Lilienne hesitated- how could she explain?

"N–nothing."

They watched her as she walked to her bed and began to undo the ties to her costume- she could feel their skepticism burning her skin, just as his had, and his eyes flashed before her mind again.

<><<>><>


	7. VI. One-Way Glass

Lilienne lay in her bed, maintaining a shallow breath as not to disturb the absolute stillness that had settled in the room. She looked about in the dark, through all the familiar shadows, making out objects and re-imagining them the way one can only do in the dark. 

All the girls — excluding Camille, who was likely paying a visit to one of her numerous gentlemen callers — snuffed out their lamps and pulled their blankets snugly around themselves, whispering through the dark until sleep finally claimed them. But, sleep did not come for Lilienne. She laid awake in her bed, reaching a hand up to finger the sleeve of the dress where she'd hidden her rose. She thought of the mysterious figure whom she had nearly walked into, wondering what kind of man would lurk in the corridors of the Opéra Populaire. Could it be that she, little Lilienne LaClaire, had mistakenly met the Phantom of the Opera? She couldn't think it possible, but she knew it had to be him — no other man could be as ghostly as he.

With a determined restlessness, Lilienne carefully pulled herself out from under her covers. The wooden floorboards were cold on her feet, causing her toes to curl. She slipped a robe around her shoulders and took hold of an oil lamp before quietly easing open the door. She walked _en pointe_ down the dark corridor, as to silence her steps.

When she passed out of the dormitories, she lit her lamp and was suddenly surrounded by a warm glow that only made the distant darkness seem denser. As she slowly maneuvered the opera house, she couldn't quite peg what had so prompted this midnight endeavor. That was, until she reached Christine's dressing room.

She pushed open the door, the light from her lamp illuminating the space as she entered. There were numerous lavish gowns and jewels, a long mirror trimmed with gold that hung on the far wall, and stage powders and rouges cluttering the vanity; as her little light reflected off the vanity's mirror, something caught her attention under it.

She drifted over and put her lamp down amidst the stage makeup. Then, slowly, she gently ran a finger down the velvet petals of a deep red rose- and tied around its stem was a ribbon of black silk. Lilienne's heart leapt up into her throat; so, the dream of a man who encouraged her song on the stage was no dream after all. And, if that was no dream, then what such man would haunt the opera house?

Suddenly, a chill pricked at her ankles, and a cold breeze blew her lamp out in a thin stream of smoke, leaving her in the darkness. Hesitantly, Lilienne took slow steps through the room, trying to follow the breeze to its source- she only came to stand in front of her obscure reflection in the tall mirror. But, still she felt the mysterious wind, strong enough here to blow the loose strands of her honey-coloured hair. She placed her hands on the cold glass.

Slowly, she slid the mirror away, her gasp echoing through the long corridor that lay beyond it. This wasn't another corridor of the Pairs Opera — this was a secret passage, laden with spider webs and thick dust, the air which flowed from it stale and damp and cold.

Lilienne couldn't help the steps she took forward; she hardly even noticed she was taking them. Without so much as her lamp, Lilienne stepped forth into this secret hallway. It was as if the ominous darkness was bidding her enter, like there was a presence waiting there to welcome her. She kept her hand holding fast to the mirror.

Then, she turned and fled, her heart racing. She ran from the dressing room, hastily closing the door. She wanted nothing more that to bury herself in her bed and pretend that she did not see any of it — there was only one man who could live down that corridor, and Lilienne wasn't prepared to pay him a visit.

Her mind was racing even faster than her legs; if Christine was gifted the same rose, could it be that the mysterious musician who had come to Lilienne was the same man who taught Mlle. Daaé? But, if Christine's elusive teacher had come to her through that corridor, that would mean her teacher, and the man who had accompanied Lilienne, was none other than...

<><<>><>


	8. VII. Phantoms And Angels

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, a longer chapter. I hope you enjoy!

An uneasy quietness had descended upon the Opéra Populaire as night fell. All settled into their beds to rest up for the performance the next evening. Performers huddled together in their rooms, passing along whispers of the Opera Ghost. In Lilienne's own room, the girls had slipped silently under their covers, no one daring to speak in their giddy way, as was their nightly custom. But not on this night — even Camille lay asleep in her bed on the far wall closest to the door, unusually alone.

Lilienne lay in her bed, holding a book open over her head, a single candle shedding just enough dim light for her to read by. Beyond this circle of light, the world seemed especially dark, and Lilienne's mind kept drifting from the story in her hands to the shadows just outside her little ring of protection.

Giving up on her book, Lilienne sat up in her bed. She looked over the forms of the three other girls, all safely asleep, and she examined these shadows. People were so afraid of the dark, not for the absence of light, but for what hid within it; in the Paris Opera, it took the form of a man. 

The image of him standing before her like a shadow, a dark mist, flew before her eyes; she remembered the way he had looked at her, as if those green eyes could see straight through her; she remembered his white face, half-hidden behind an even whiter mask. And she had thought — she had seen nothing to fear in that face, in those eyes. He was, in fact, a man, and only a man. Warm-blooded, tangible. There were no such things as phantoms, and this man was no exception.

Suddenly, the shadows appeared less dense to Lilienne. She was not afraid of the ghost who haunted the opera house, nor had she ever been. She'd never had a reason to be, for he'd never meant her harm. She saw no reason to fear him now.

Reaching to her nightstand, she traded her book for the candle, pulled her dressing robe over her thin night dress and quietly crept from the room. Her step illuminated by the weak flicker of her flame. Her dancer's toes carried her swiftly and silently down the opera house and through the maze of seats in the auditorium. She climbed up onto the stage, any fear she'd had before immediately dissolving like a dream upon waking. With her candle, she lit a single stage light and stood in the centre of the bright circle.

She looked out over the imaginary audience with a dramatic smile, taking in a deep breath before letting it out in the form of song.

_Think of me,_

_Think of me fondly_

_When we've said goodbye._

_Remember me_

_Once in a while,_

_Please promise me you'll try._

Until now, she'd only had her own echo to accompany her, but as she held her note, the familiar sound of the violin crescendo-ed in to support her. She opened her mouth to continue the song, but as she searched for the mysterious musician, no sound escaped her. The mysterious violin stopped with her.

"Don not stop on my account." A deep male voice echoed strongly throughout the auditorium, and Lilienne couldn't decide from which direction it came.

"Who are you?" Her own voice barely broke the space illuminated by the light, and her eyes kept trying to find signs of him.

"Child, I am the Angel of Music."

"Angel, or Phantom?" she asked, all the pieces of this puzzle finally fitting together. "You came to Christine, you taught her to sing. She believed you were the Angel of Music, but then she was taken... by the Phantom of the Opera." 

As she spoke this, the voice began to chuckle warmly. Something about the sound of this seemed to console Lilienne, to put her at ease. 

"You are a perceptive one, _ma chère_." He spoke to her, his voice warm yet full of intrigue. Lilienne couldn't help but blush as he endeared her. "I go by many names — the Angel of Music appears to all worthy musicians."

" _Mais, Monsieur_ , I am only a dancer..." she stammered.

"Little one, you are far more that just a dancer. You simply have not been taught."

"Why have you come to me?" Lilienne, despite her revelations, still could not understand her significance in all this.

"You are sweet, as is your voice. But, also like you, you're voice is shy. You just need somebody to show you how to let it out."

"And you would show me?" 

She asked, stepping forward in a strangely hopeful gesture. The Phantom of the Opera, or the Angel of Music — whoever he was — was not a man whom people looked forward to encountering. Yet, Lilienne felt the warm feeling of hope spread through her chest. 

The long moment of silence that followed her question weighed heavy on her, hanging thick in the air of the auditorium and imposing on her sphere of light. As the moment stretched out, anxious anticipation began to prey on her hope.

"Angel?"

"Yes. I will show you."

As soon as he'd said this, all the other stage lights blazed to life, and the piano in the orchestral pit beneath the stage swelled to fill the space with music; the aria in the third act of _Hannibal_.

"I believe you are partial to this aria," he remarked. "I only want you to sing me the first phrase."

As he mysteriously accompanied her, the first few bars of introduction passed, and timidly, Lilienne opened her mouth again to sing.

_Think of me,_

_Think of me fondly_

_When we've said goodbye —_

"Good." The Angel cut her off after the phrase, his music trailing off into silence. "That was a good start, but you're not moving enough air."

"I'm sorry —" She began to apologize, but again he wouldn't allow her to finish.

"Do not apologize, for you've done nothing wrong. It is only your shyness. You mustn't be worried by my presence. Sing for me. We'll do the phrase again, and try to sing it on a single breath — if you cannot, a quick breath after the first line would be acceptable."

Lilienne nodded as the music recommenced, unsure if he could even see this small gesture. She took in a bigger breath the second time and tried to clear her head.

_Think of me,_

_Think of me fondly_

_When we've said goodbye._

Lilienne smiled; a single breath. She hadn't known she could hold that much air. The Angel bid her continue, the music not stopping her this time.

_Remember me_

_Once in a while,_

_Please promise me you'll try._

_When you find that once again you long_

_To take your heart back and be free,_

_If you ever find a moment,_

_Spare a thought for me._

"Better." The Angel encouraged as his music cut out again. "Now repeat after me: _rarement la reine range ses robes en ramie."_

" _Pourquoi_ _—_ " Lilienne was puzzled over the relevance of this phrase.

"Say it."

" _Rarement la reine range ses robes en ramie..._ "

"What this little tongue-twister will do is help your diction. Say it again, only make your Rs very precise."

Lilienne nodded, taking in a deep breath, rolling each R delicately and with confidence. " _Rrrarement la rrreine rrrange ses rrrobes en rrramie_. Shall I try the phrase again, Angel?"

" _Non_. I would like to run a few scales — do you know what a scale is?" As he asked her, he played few a through on the piano.

"Well, they're eight notes, including high tonic, with twelve semitones. Each has a relative minor key, and —"

"Good for you," he cut her off, "you've rather impressed me; most of the musicians around here are a few sharps short of a key, if you know what I mean." Lilienne laughed at his joke, a feeling of pride warming her and making the tips of her fingers tingle. "We shall start in the key of C major and see how your low range sings."

He played a lavish arpeggio to put her in key, and she tried her best to follow along. As he'd instructed, he led her downward, shifting through the keys until her voice cracked and she could sing no lower. If she'd followed correctly, that would put her at a low G.

"Your low notes are quite warm — you might make a fine alto. Now, let us see if you can blow the roof off this opera house. Are you familiar with the vocal exercise _Bella Signora_?"

" _Oui, mon Ange_..." she replied, blushing from his compliment.

"Remember to roll those Rs." 

This was the only advice he gave her before resuming his scales, this time pulling her up with each key change. She made it through several keys before her voice began to shake.

"Catch your breath," the Angel told her, "we can continue in a moment."

"I don't think I can, Angel..."

Suddenly, there was a whooshing sound above her head. Lilienne jerked her neck back to see a sandbag — one of the ones to balance the weight of the curtain — come crashing down. It landed right next to her, and she jumped aside with a shrill scream.

"Don't be so doubtful, _Chèrie_. You must trust me — I know you can do more." His words were soothing and encouraging. "If you can scream like that, imagine how you could sing."

"It nearly fell on my head!" Lilienne yelled, eyes still wide.

"Yes, nearly, but you mustn't worry — I won't harm you. Now, shall we continue? A little more breath support might help you along; try to engage your muscles." 

Lilienne took a deep breath, calming her nerves. The Phantom of the Opera won't harm her... though she didn't know why, this brought a smile to her lips.

"They might hear..." Lilienne worried aloud. The Angel chuckled softly from where he hid.

"Do not worry about the others; you must only sing for me, my sweet. Are you ready?"

"I think so."

"I shall go down a few keys, to give you a running start."

He did as he said, finding a more comfortable key for her to restart in. Forgetting her fear of the other performers who slept mere corridors away, she tried to fill the theatre as she sang higher and higher. Suddenly, all Lilienne could see was the grand ceiling of the auditorium, which had become quiet.

"My dear, are you alright?" the Angel asked in a tone almost of amusement. Lilienne slowly stood as her dizziness ebbed. "I must commend you for following my instruction — you definitely used your air."

"Maybe a little too much." She said, still out of breath. The Angel laughed.

"Do not fear, Mlle. LaClaire. In time, you will learn to control it."

" _Monsieur_ , how do you know my name?" She asked in alarm.

" _L'Ange voit, l'Ange sait._ " He repeated again, simply.

Lilienne stood in the half-light on the stage, alone and stripped bare of her comforts before the Angel of Music. He led her patiently through his vocal exercises, consoling her shortcomings with praise and praising her accomplishments; _how could such a man_ , Lilienne though to herself, _be called evil_? The Phantom of the Opera was definitely different than she'd expected, but not the evil of the stories. She sang to him, in fascination, in wonder of the man behind the monster.

<><<>><>


	9. VIII. The Point Of No Return

Lilienne was not sure how long the Angel of Music kept her on the stage, but she felt as if she'd been singing for hours. Yet, even though her lessons had only just begun, she felt like she'd learned so much already. The Angel of Music was a good teacher, indeed. 

" _Eh bien_ , _Ange_ , I suppose I should bid you _à la prochaine_." 

It had to be well into the early hours of the morning by now, and the Opéra Populaire had a show to put on that night. Lilienne bobbed a delicate curtsy, bowing her head low, unsure if he could even see her.

"Wait, _mademoiselle_ , I have... a certain favour to ask you."

Lilienne's eyebrows raised in curiosity — what favour could the Angel of Music, or the Phantom of the Opera at that, have to ask of her? 

"You see, I'm working on an opera of my own — I've nearly finished it, actually."

"The Phantom's opera..." Lilienne's voice trialed off. The Angel laughed.

"Clever, _ma fillette_. There is a song in this opera that I would like to hear sung before it is unveiled."

Behind her, Lilienne heard a shuffling, and turned in a flash. There was, placed on the stage floor, papers bound in leather. She picked it up, removing its contents. There were several sheets of music; staves, bars, notes, all inked in his own penmanship. Lilienne held the music as if it were a fragile child.

"The second part, the woman's, follows the first. I shall sing from the beginning, so you'll understand how it sounds when it's your turn."

Without so much as her consent, the music of a violin filled the theater again, this time accompanying a male voice; a male voice so sweet, Lilienne thought she might fall asleep listening to him. The Angel's voice was tender and exposed, and portrayed such emotion that Lilienne's heart felt as if it would break.

_You have come here_

_In pursuit of your deepest urge —_

_In pursuit of that wish which 'til now_

_Has been silent,_

_Silent._

Lilienne's heart beat faster and her breath quickened. His voice may lull her, but the song pricked at her skin and stirred untouched parts inside of her.

_I have brought you_

_That our passions may fuse and merge._

_In your mind you've already succumbed to me —_

_Dropped all defenses, completely succumbed to me,_

_Now you are here with me,_

_No second thoughts, you've decided,_

_Decided._

Lilienne had to keep reminding herself that it was just a song, that he hadn't yet known of her when he'd written it. Yet, she found herself being pulled back in, certain that he was singing directly to her. She tried to keep her own defenses up, but the more he sang, the less stable those defenses became.

_Past the point of no return,_

_No backward glances —_

_Our games of make-believe are at an end._

_Past all though of if, or when,_

_No use resisting —_

_Abandon though and let the dream descend._

The dream descended further upon Lilienne as she stood in the presence of his voice — no backward glances, now. She seemed to hold on to each new lyric.

_What raging fire shall flood the soul,_

_What rich desire unlocks its door,_

_What sweet seduction lies before us?_

Lilienne audibly gasped, her eyes fluttering closed.

_Past the point of no return,_

_The final threshold._

_What warm unspoken secrets will we learn_

_Beyond the point of no return?_

She was so entranced that she nearly forgot to sing. Glancing over the sheets of music, Lilienne mimicked the tune he had sung, trying to do his song justice.

_You have brought me_

_To that moment where words run dry —_

_To that moment where speech disappears into silence,_

_Silence._

Her voice was weak under the pressure, and she saw the papers tremble in her hands as she read the music — she had never sung anything like this before. She filled her lungs with as much air as she could hold and kept trying harder.

_I have come here,_

_Hardly knowing the reason why._

_In my mind I've already imagined our bodies entwining, defenseless and silent —_

_Now I am here with you,_

_No second thoughts, I've decided,_

_Decided._

"Sing for me!" The Angel called to her, and Lilienne felt a new resolve form inside her. A voice that was far from her own, far more beautiful and far more bare, flowed from her throat and possessed the space.

_Past the point of no return,_

_No_ _going back now —_

_Our passion play has now at last begun._

The words became real to Lilienne now, and she let her voice do the singing. She was only its humble host. She was completely and utterly entranced, moving and breathing on instincts she didn't know she had.

_Past all thought of right or wrong,_

_One final question —_

_How long should we two wait before we're one?_

_When will the blood begin to race,_

_The sleeping bud burst into bloom,_

_When will the flames at last consume us?_

Now, the solo became a duet as the two parts were joined into one, and the Angel's voice blended into hers. With two voices, there was twice the power that echoed in the theatre, and Lilienne went weak in the knees.

_Past the point of no return,_

_The final threshold._

_The bridge is crossed so stand and watch it burn;_

_We've passed the point of no return._

All the music stopped. With the last line, the whole space went absolutely silent, save for the echoes that bounced off the walls, and in Lilienne's mind. Her hands were still shaking, her heart racing and her chest heaving for air. It had been so real, so real that Lilienne had felt it inside her, taking hold; felt as she never felt before. The Phantom's song had exposed something in her, and Lilienne stood on that stage with a sense of transparency and vulnerability. She only wished she understood what she had seen, what she had felt.

"You... you sing like an angel..." Lilienne whispered to him, in awe. He ignored her flattery.

" _Eh bien, ma petite_ , I think it is far past your bedtime. You must be well rested for the opera, tonight — I can't have any of my dancers falling off my stage, can I? Now, off you go."

Lilienne bobbed a quick curtsy as he spoke to her, shaking her out of the trance his music had cast over her. She picked up her candle and turned, swiftly skittering from the stage and running off to bed like a young child. But, before she abandoned the stage, she stopped suddenly and turned.

" _Ange_?"

" _Oui, mon amour_?" 

"Thank you." Lilienne blushed at this, as she had with all his endearments; he seemed to have a fondness for them.

" _Bonne nuit, mon Ange_." He replied warmly.

With this, she slipped from the auditorium and wove her way back through the corridors and up the winding stairs to the room in which she slept. When she reached her door, she pushed it open slowly; all the girls, Minet, Pauline and Camille, were sleeping soundly, exactly as Lilienne had left them.

Lilienne slipped between the covers of her bed, wrapping them tightly about her slight frame. Despite her fatigue and the fact that the faintest of light was already softening the sky, she lay awake; the Angel of Music, the Phantom of the Opera, was like an unfolding mystery to her. He was like her rose — thorns and all — like the one which he'd left for her, with its many intricate petals that Lilienne would have to peel back in order to see into the centre, the true Angel behind the mask. For he had been warm, kind, patient, none of the things the people of the Paris Opera thought of him.

As she drifted closer to sleep, his song played in her mind. Lilienne felt that she'd past the point of no return tonight. No backward glances. Her games of make-believe were at an end.

<><><>


	10. IX. The Angel Of Music

A cool fog crept up Lilienne's legs where she stood in the dark meadow, the night sky hanging overhead like a shimmering inky ocean. Lilienne sang into the dark, her voice more beautiful than any she'd ever heard. She stood there, alone with her song that echoed through the empty night.

But, in fact, she wasn't alone; the lonely echo of a violin intertwined with her voice, and a man stood before her, shrouded in fog and night. He beckoned her forth, the sound of his music too tempting for her to resist. She glided through the fog. With all her heart she sang to him, as if he was the very source of her voice. She floated nearer and nearer to him. She could almost see him... she could almost touch him. She reached out her hand...  
  
Lilienne was jolted awake by Minet who hovered over her bed, already dressed, with Pauline giddily waiting behind her, as always.

"Lili, _réveille-toi_! Mme Cartelle will not forgive you for being late. "

"Late?" Lilienne was fully awake now, sitting up straight in her bed. " _Ciel_ , what time is it?"  
  
"Too late for my breakfast, if I have to wait for you any longer," Minet retorted. Lilienne picked up her small clock; it was eight forty in the morning, and rehearsals started promptly at nine.  
  
"Why didn't you wake me sooner?"   
  
"You looked like you were having a nice dream."  
  
Lilienne pulled a disapproving face, throwing back her blanket and unbuttoning her nightgown. The girls ran giddily from their room. She tried to dress into her rehearsal costume as quickly as she could, but thoughts of her dream kept slowing her down. First, he had haunted her on the stage. Now, his presence lingered on her pillow.   
  
She tied the bow in the back of her dress as she emerged from her room, headed straight to the stage — there would be no time for breakfast this morning. She arrived just as the new managers did.  
  
"Mlle. LaClaire, isn't it? I do hope you won't make a habit of tardiness," M. André said as he looked down his nose at the petite dancer.

" _Pardonnez-moi, messieurs_. It will not happen again."

She tipped her head respectfully before skittering off to warm her muscles. If Mme. Cartelle ever caught a ballerina dancing on cold legs, well, that dancer wouldn't be able to dance for a week after Mme. Cartelle was through with them.  
  
Lilienne rolled her ankles, then did a few tight _pliés_. Around her, some dancers practiced their leaps, while others reached their arms over their sides. Beneath it all, the musicians could be heard tuning their instruments. Individually, all these characteristics were disjointed, but together, they made something beautiful.  
  
Lilienne observed this as she _plié_ -ed, thinking of how the whole thing would come together tonight for their second performance of _Hannibal_. As her eyes swept the stage, she noticed their management, bickering down in the seats. Many other performers noticed, as well.  
  
"But, Fermin, what are we going to do about our cast?"  
  
"Don't worry, André. Tonight will be a grand success — we've already sold out! Gossip is worth its weight in gold, you know."  
  
"Not when we have to refund a full house!"  
  
"We won't have to, André —"  
  
"Then who will sing Mlle. Daaé's part?"  
  
There were many whispers that bounced around the performers who watched this scene from the stage. Lilienne's own eyes widened as she, too, listened. Christine Daaé, missing? Had the young soprano not made her momentous success just the evening before? Lilienne thought how strange it was for Christine to have disappeared mere hours after her triumph- _she should be grateful. Not everyone gets this chance_ , Lilienne mused, _she should be reveling in her talent, not wasting it by hiding away. How could she leave the stage, the lights, the music?_  
  
Then again, Lilienne thought, perhaps it had not been her choice at all. Gossip was something this young ballerina was partial to, yet she listened attentively to the tittle-tattle of the performers.  
  
"So, it's true..."  
  
"Christine really has disappeared..."  
  
" _Le silence, tout le monde!_ Do you not have rehearsing to do?" Mme Giry quieted them all with a stamp of her cane.  
  
" _Mais, Madame_ , how are we to rehearse if we do have our lead?" one of the male dancers piped up behind Lilienne. Everyone looked to their new managers, who looked between themselves like two frightened deer.   
  
"André, what are we to do?"  
  
"Well, I... I suppose..." he faltered, looking as if he regret was he was about to say, " … we cancel the remainder of _Hannibal_. Instead of refunding the prospective audience, we shall transfer their tickets to those for our next opera. We can use what funds remain to put it on. As for our new star, we will begin searching for a substitute immediately."  
  
"Then _Il Muto_ it shall be," Fermin corroborated his co-manager. Mme Giry addressed the stunned performers.  
  
"You heard your managers — we have a new opera to learn. On your feet, all of you!" she gave another stamp of her cane to punctuate her order.  
  
In an instant, the theatre came alive as the performers, musicians and stagehands alike ran about in twice the hurry; sheets of music and lines flew everywhere, and props were tossed about aimlessly as they began to organize a brand new opera.

  
<><<>><>

  
  
Lilienne dragged her exhausted body through the corridors of the Paris Opera, pulling herself through the door to her room. It had only been a few days, but attempting to throw together an opera on the fly was more draining than their usual schedule. Minet and Pauline were already in, and Camille likely wouldn't return until the morning, if at all. Lilienne exhaled and collapsed onto her bed. Face-down on her pillow, Lilienne heard Minet speaking about her.  
  
"Lili can decide it for us."   
  
"Decide what?" she mumbled into her blankets.  
  
"I think that the managers will cancel the opera, but Pauline thinks they'll find a replacement for the Prima Donna. There is no one who can sing it, Pauly," she said to their roommate.  
  
"I believe Christine will be back in time," Lilienne said, sitting now.  
  
"You really think so? What makes you believe she's coming back?" Minet's eyes were wide and teasing.  
  
"I don't know..."   
  
Lilienne shrugged — how could she say what she knew? Of course the Phantom would return his prodigy to sing the opera, that was obvious, but she couldn't tell the others this; who would understand?  
  
"Well," Minet laughed, "I bet you five francs the opera is cancelled and all the tickets refunded; those new managers have no idea what they've gotten themselves into. I pity the poor fools."  
  
Pauline giggled in agreement as the two girls climbed under their blankets and blew out their candles, leaving Lilienne to sit in silence in the light of her singular candle. In the half-light, she carefully stored her costume and pulled her night dress over body before easing herself under her own blankets.   
  
She stared up at the ceiling, watching the strange shapes cast from her small flame dance above her; they were sleek shadows like long black ribbons of silk. Like the very ribbon tying her hair into its braid. Slowly, her eyelids became heavy, and she drifted towards sleep. The other girls were already there, softly breathing in their beds.  
  
In this state between sleeping and waking, Lilienne's mind heard music. She heard a beautiful violin and a velvety male voice, becoming closer and closer to a dream the farther she fell into sleep.  
  
Suddenly, Lilienne's eyes flew open and she became fully awake; on her nightstand beside her, her candle blew out of its own accord, leaving her in darkness in a heartbeat. She sat up sharply, whispering through the dark.  
  
" _Ange_?"

The door to her room clicked, sitting just barely ajar with a soft creak; a warm light flowed in from the corridor through this narrow crack. Quickly, the pains in her body no longer plaguing her, she leapt from her bed and hastily pulled her robe about herself.

She slipped through the door, closing it carefully behind her so as not to disturb the others. Some mysterious presence had lit a lamp on the corridor wall. Looking down the hall, she saw another lamp light itself, beckoning her forth, the unseen source glowing from around the corner. Lilienne hurried forward.  
  
When she rounded the corner, the light ahead of her retreated, leading her on. She passed through the darkened opera house, this mysterious light the only thing to see by. When she reached the foyer of the Paris Opera, she saw that the light had left the door to the auditorium open for her; without so much as a doubt, she entered after it.  
  
She wandered down through the aisles and seats, clambering up onto the stage — it had already been lit.  
  
" _Bonjour, ma chère_ ," the familiar voice of the Angel echoed through the theatre.  
  
" _Ange_... why are you here?" Lilienne asked.  
  
"Child, did you think I would allow you to miss your lesson?" She could hear his amusement. She was stunned.  
  
"I..." she spoke sheepishly, almost stunned, hoping he couldn't see her blush from wherever he hid, "...I didn't think you would bother with me."  
  
"Do not let your demure nature lead you astray — you have much unharnessed potential. I must teach you to realize it."  
  
"Do you really think so?"  
  
"I am most selective of my pupils; the Angel of Music does not make himself know to just anyone. Now, why don't we get your voice warmed up? There's nothing so atrocious as a singer who cannot hold a vibrato." Lilienne giggled as he said this.  
  
"What's so funny, _ma fille_?"  
  
"Mme. Cartelle has a very similar principle about dancing."  
  
"The Angel sees, the Angel knows."  
  
This was all he spoke before his music flowed through the theatre. He led her through scales, warming her range bottom to top before she truly began to sing. As usual, he worked with her on the aria in the third act of _Hannibal —_ it was one of Lilienne's favourites. She loved how gentle and earnest it was.  
  
_… but please promise me that sometimes_  
  
_you will think —_  
  
_ah ah ah ah ah ah ah,_  
_  
ah ah ah ah ah ah ah,_  
  
_ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah ah —_  
  
_ahhhh-aaaaaaahhhhhh of me!_  
  
She sang the whole aria through, feeling pleased with herself, for the Angel had not so much as spoken one word of advice. That was, until now.  
  
"You did well..."   
  
"But?" Lilienne's heart sank — his skepticism was obvious.  
  
"But, I don't believe it."

" _Ange_ , I don't understand —"

"More appropriately, _you_ do not believe it; you have to feel what you're singing, Mlle LaClaire. How can I believe it if you don't?"  
  
"I'm trying, _mon Ange_." She dipped her head in disappointment.  
  
"Then you must try harder, _Chérie._ " His bluntness took Lilienne by surprise — the Angel of Music had never been so harsh to her. "If you do not surrender yourself, then you will never truly sing, and I will have wasted my time."

"I..." Lilienne fumbled over her words, for didn't know what to say to this. The Angel's words had left her at a loss for her own, "I think I should return to bed."  
  
"I expect you at our next lesson."  
  
" _Si mon Ange le désire_."  
  
At that, Lilienne climbed down from the stage and began to hurry from the theatre. Whereas before she felt nearly giddy about her lessons, she was now feeling dread — his order had sounded more like a threat. She wasn't sure what wonders and torment awaited her upon their next meeting, but for now, she was only concerned with hiding in her bed.  
  
Once safely in her room, Lilienne lit her candle once more to chase away the shadows. She lay awake, and under her blankets her fingers toyed with the end of the black ribbon he'd given her. The Angel had always been so helpful and patient with her, but never before tonight had he been so blunt, so harsh. Lilienne laid wakefully, wondering what could have prompted this sudden change; had she misjudged him? Or, could it be that the Angel of Music has misjudged her after all?

_**< ><<>><>** _


	11. X. The Soprano's Return

Lilienne stood statue-still on a pedestal in front of the seamstress, Mme. Omid, as she pinned the hem of her dress for their latest opera, _Il Muto_. Music flowed steadily from the direction of the stage, and there was a constant hum of activity as preparations for the _Opéra Populaire's_ next performance reached their peak.

She gazed around distractedly, watching the smaller ballerinas flutter around like _le_ _s papillions,_ while the men haul heavy props. She smelled the familiar mixture of drying paint on wood and stale sweat in the close quarters of backstage. But she payed attention to none of it; she thought of Phantoms and Angels, and how much longer before they called her to the stage to rehearse their dances.

"The ballet from act three!" someone called from the stage, and Lilienne was finally called back into reality. She _jeté_ -ed off the pedestal, much to the disapproval of Mme. Omid, and joined the other ballerinas on stage. Mme. Cartelle clapped her hands.  
  
"Stand farther apart; you must fill the whole stage! _Vite, vite_ , girls! You will not have this much time to blunder about when you are performing!" She was disapproving, as always. Nothing would ever be quite good enough for the tight-faced, shrill-voiced woman.

They rearranged themselves, and as they awaited the maestro's cue, Lilienne couldn't ignore the nervousness that clawed at her. She looked around her at all the advanced dancers, all perfectly poised. _I've already failed the Angel, I can't fail Mme. Cartelle as well..._

The maestro gave them a single bar count-in. Lilienne twirled into the ballet, trying not to stumble over her feet as they adjusted to a new platform. They all fumbled through the dance, arms ungracefully hitting one another. Lilienne, mid leap, caught a glimpse of Mme. Cartelle as she shook her head.

"One more time, _du début!"_ she called.   
  
Of course, Lilienne had learned that in stage language, _'one more time'_ translated to five more. They all returned to their first positions and awaited their cue, bearing her scrutiny as they danced it over again. However, the longer she danced, the farther Lilienne's mind drifted from the stage. Was the Angel watching? If he was, he was likely criticizing her every movement, just as Mme Cartelle was.   
  
Lilienne was jolted back into her head as she danced straight into another ballerina, the impact sending them both reeling. The two dancers fell to the stage with a hard thud.  
  
"Lili!" Brigitte cried.  
  
"Mlle. LaClaire, what is the matter with you?" Mme. Cartelle called. "You should be ashamed, you hopeless child; _grâce à toi_ , the dance is now ruined! You should count yourself lucky that this is a rehearsal; what would I do if you had done this during tonight's performance!?"  
  
" _Je suis très désolée, Madame —_ "  
  
"I don't need your tears, _petite fille_. Get up, for heaven's sake!"  
  
Lilienne scrambled to her feet, smoothing out her skirt and drawing a shaking breath. She was used to Mme Cartelle's insults, but after her last encounter with the Angel, she only seemed to be falling downhill. Suddenly, Meg was by her side.

"Madame, I think Lilienne is just tired. Perhaps if she could sit for a few minutes..."  
  
"We could all use a break, Madame," Brigitte spoke as she stood.  
  
" _Eh bien, allez-vous en!_ All of you! You may go to lunch."  
  
She threw her hands up in the air in defeat, and a relieved sigh passed over the stage. All the dancers dispersed to rest their muscles that ached from effort. After an apology to Brigitte, Lilienne slipped backstage with her head low — could she do nothing right?   
  
Lilienne sat in the dining hall behind the stage with all the other cast and crew, shrinking amidst the clamour. There were too many people for her to keep track of, and between the many bodies and their hot lunch, the room was becoming stuffy, and the air felt harsh in her lungs.   
  
But, in in the midst of all the hustle, Lilienne sat in silence, secluded by her thoughts. In her mind, she kept returning to the previous night. She heard the harshness in the Angel's voice. Over and over, his words played in her mind. As she stared ahead blankly, pushing her food around her plate to the rhythm in her mind, she absently twirled the loose end of the ribbon that tied her hair into its braid — the very length of black silk that had originally been tied to the stem of her rose.

Suddenly, the whole room went quiet, this sudden change of atmosphere forcing Lilienne out of her head. She looked up to the person standing in the open doorway, at whom everyone was staring; Christine Daaé, in the flesh, accompanied by Mme Giry. The young woman looked as pale as a ghost, her eyes wide with the discomfort of so many gazes. As Meg pulled her into a seat next to her own, all the previous noise burst forth again, yet this time, it was all directed towards Christine.  
  
"Christine, where did you go?"  
  
"Is it true you were kidnapped?"  
  
"Will you sing in the opera?"  
  
Everyone pestered the poor girl with question after question; Lilienne herself had a desperate urge to learn of her disappearance. Was it really the Phantom who had taken her? What was it like all the way down that cold corridor, in his lair? What was _he_ like? But as Christine drew back from the attention, Lilienne figured she'd better leave her questions unanswered. For now.  
  
"In fact, Mlle. Daaé will not be singing at tomorrow night's performance." All heads turned to the managers who stood in the doorway. "Given the circumstances, we've had to cast otherwise. La Carlotta will be playing the role of _Comtesse_." 

As this was said, the soprano herself, all pink and puffed, pushed past the managers and into her own imaginary spotlight.

"It is right, I am returned," she said in her high-pitched accent that pierced the room. She waved and curtsied with all the grace of _une vache_. There was a collective sigh that passed over the lunch-ers.   
  
" _Messieurs, s'il vous plaît_ , Christine should play the lead," Mme. Giry stepped forward. The letter that she clutched caught Lilienne's eye. "You know what will happen if you deny _His_ wishes."   
  
A wave of whispers rolled through the dining hall, and Lilienne's head jerked up; everyone knew who Mme. Giry referred to, and they spoke in low voices of fear amongst themselves. But not Lilienne — what was incited in her was something closer to intrigue.  
  
"A _'disaster beyond imagination will occur'?_ Ha! I think not, Mme. Giry." M. Fermin snatched the letter from her, turning back to the table of performers. "I assure you that this nuisance will do us no harm. What have we to fear of a ghost who likes to play tricks?"   
  
Their manager affirmed them otherwise, yet still their skeptical gazes asked the unspoken question; what disaster could this ghost have planned for them?

<><<>><>

She managed to make it through the rest of the day without another disaster, however, Mme. Cartelle would not soon let her forget this rehearsal. Finally, cast and crew were left to their own devices and allowed to replace their costumes with sleepwear. 

"Lili, are you coming?" Meg asked as she headed off stage. 

"I'll be along shortly." 

Lilienne tried to appease Meg's concern with a small smile. The older ballerina seemed to accept this, disappearing along with the others. Lilienne, alone at last, sat on the floor of the dim stage with her legs tucked neatly under her. She didn't know how long she would have to wait for him, but the longer she did, the more her nerves cause her stomach to turn. 

" _Ma fille,_ I see you await your Angel." 

His voice greeted her softly, warmly as usual, but this time there was also a note of hesitation. Lilienne stood, bowing her head. 

" _Oui, mon Ange_. I am ready for our lesson." 

Without any further discussion, the music to her aria greeted her. When she opened her mouth to sing, her voice seemed thin, stripped bare of its confidence.

_Think of me,_

_Think of me fondly_

_When we've said goodbye._

"Keep more space in your mouth!" the Angel criticized as she sang.

_Remember me_

_Once in awhile,_

_Please promise me you'll try —_

"What have I taught you about your Rs?"

_When you find that once again you long_

_To take your heart back and be free,_

"Move more air to support your high notes!"

_If you ever find a moment,_

_Spare a thought for me._

Lilienne's heart sank as her last note wavered. The music stopped, and Lilienne dreaded what he might have to say next; he had never so closely scrutinized her before, and she could hear in his voice the toll it was taking on his patience. 

"What has gotten into you, _petite_? Have I taught you nothing?" 

"I'm sorry, _mon ange._ I promise I'm trying —" 

"Promises, promises. You must prove that I'm right about you, or else these lessons are futile. Continue, properly this time." He cut her feeble apology short, not waiting for her agreement before giving her the accompaniment.

_We never said our love was evergreen,_

_Or as unchanging as the sea;_

_But if you can still remember,_

_Stop and think of me._

"No, no," the music stopped again, "Your problem isn't your voice, it's in your head. What have I told you, _fillette_? You cannot be so reserved, or else your music is reserved." 

"I'm sorry —" 

"Stop apologizing. It means nothing if you can't follow through." 

"I am trying —" 

"Then try harder. Or are you too weak? Perhaps I ask too much of an innocent child, a simple girl." 

This last remark seemed to cut Lilienne to the core, like a sword had been thrust through her. She sank to her knees under the Phantom's cruel judgement. A moment of silence stretched out between them, laying heavily on Lilienne. 

"Either stand up and find your strength, or get off my stage." 

This was the choice. This was the point of no return. She knew that standing would commit herself to him forever. She also knew that walking away would separate her from him forever. She wanted both. She wanted neither. Lilienne stood, smoothed her skirt and squared her shoulders, trying to steady the tremors in her hands. 

"I'm sorry to have wasted so much of your time, _Monsieur_." 

The Phantom had nothing more to say to her as Lilienne strode from the theatre. She walked with her chin high, clasping her hands together to dampen the shaking they betrayed. But before she disappeared, she hesitated. She whispered to the Angel of Music one parting quip. 

" _Je vous souhaite la bonne chance avec votre petit prodige_." 

As soon as she had escaped the auditorium, Lilienne broke into a run, fleeing back to her room. She closed the door, sealing herself inside the sleeping darkness. Without so much as removing her costume or ballet slippers, she crawled into her bed. The Angel of Music had been wrong about her; Lilienne LaClaire hadn't deserved his attention, and now, she was only upset with herself for forgetting her place. For letting herself be distracted by a man who had thought she was special, and for allowing herself to believe him. But, what kept her awake into the wee hours of the morning wasn't her self-pity, it was one question which plagued her; did she make the right choice?

<><<>><>


	12. XI. A Disaster Beyond Imagination

Lilienne stepped onto the tray of flour backstage, rolling the toes of her slippers and coating the slippery silk — less likely to fall onstage. Everyone was dashing about, tossing props around and rummaging through costumes, all setting the last-minute details; tonight, they performed _Il Muto —_ well, in exactly ten minutes — and the energy behind the curtain was exhilarating.

Lilienne, alongside a few dozen other dancers, bounced and stretched her body so that she would be nice and nimble for their dances - there was nothing so atrocious as a dancer who's knees can't bend past their hips, as said Mme Cartelle.

Then, finally, that magic moment arrived when everything was set and still, and the raucous noise gave way to silence as all stood poised and ready to perform. There was the cue from the stage director, causing the music to change as the curtain lifted, revealing the lavish stage and dolled-up performers, already in position and awaiting their audience.

Lilienne watched the grand reveal from the wings backstage, noting how Carlotta smiled from cheek to rouged cheek and greeted the audience as if she was a relic, as was an old habit of hers. She was dressed in the pink gown and high wig of the _Comtesse_ , and Christine accompanied her in the silent role of the page-boy — a direct offense against the Phantom of the Opera's orders. 

Lilienne noticed how some of the cast and stagehands seemed _mal à l'aise_ , their eyes shifting from shadow to shadow as if one of them would leap out at any moment; Lilienne stifled a smile; these people called her naïve, yet they were the ones who fell to easily into paranoia.

" _Serafimo, away with the pretense!_

 _You cannot speak, but kiss me in my husband's absence._ "

Lilienne heard the audience gasp on the other side of the stage as the maid's true identity of the page-boy was revealed, laughing as he "kissed" the _Comtesse_. Suddenly, a gasp overtook the whole crowd — performers and audience alike — as a booming voice echoed through the theatre. All heads jerked up, yet its owner remained invisible.

_"Did I not instruct that box 5 was to be kept empty!?"_

"It's him — the Phantom of the Opera..." Christine immediately recoiled, paling visibly. Behind the stage, his name echoed in whispers of panic.

"You're part is silent, little toad!" Carlotta said, " _Maestro, per favore_..." The music picked back up, a few lines earlier.

" _Serafimo, away with the pretense,_

_You cannot speak, but kiss me in my husband's — oooouuuugggghhhh —_ " 

Suddenly, Carlotta's voice gave way to a horrible croak. Which, Lilienne observed, resembled a toad's. Laughter rippled through the crowd and gasps echoed backstage, but Lilienne could only giggle; the Phantom had indeed done his worst to her, and Carlotta would likely never again call somebody a toad. Especially his precious Christine. The maestro picked up the music a few bars earlier, yet again.

_"Old fool, he makes me laugh_

_Ahahahahah_

_Ahahaha — oooouuuugggghhhh- aaauuukkkggghhh-_ "

The audience laughed hysterically at the unfortunate Prima Donna, sending the great Carlotta squealing and wailing off the stage. The managers were already there, and the curtain fell behind them to conceal the commotion.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, we apologize" M Fermin began, "The performance will continue in ten minutes time, when the role of the _Comtesse_ will be played by Mlle Daaé." The audience applauded.

"Meanwhile, we'd like to give you the... the ballet from act... three..." M André continued, his voice cracking.

Lilienne's head jerked up; the ballet from act three meant her. She tossed herself into the ridiculous frenzy of preparations; sets had to be removed and the new backdrops dropped. Some girls herded sheep onto the stage while Lilienne helped to put out the props.

The music started — not all together at first — and the ballerinas scrambled to get themselves into position. Lilienne could only imagine the heart attack Mme Cartelle would be having at this moment as she slipped between the graceful forms. She _jeté_ -ed, _plié_ -ed, _pirouette_ -ed and twirled with the others.

Finally, as if by some sort of magic, the dancers found their rhythm and pull the ballet together. The audience seemed pleased enough, but they weren't the reason Lilienne smiled when she danced; she hardly even remembered there was an audience, or the Phantom's intrusion, or how tight her corset was.

Lilienne smiled as she twirled across the stage, feeling dainty, elegant and lovely. Dancing seemed to have a magic of it's own, a mesmerizing sort of hypnotism that made Lilienne forget she was being watched. That's what she loved about the stage; not the spotlight, but a different world isolated above the real one; the full theatre, radiating with music, and above them was Lilienne with her skirt fanning out from her slender, dancing legs. The airy wisps of hair that fell loose from her bun brushed her smiling cheeks.

Suddenly, screaming shattered the music. Lilienne had been so invested into the ballet that it took her a moment to register what had happened. She twirled around and caught a glimpse of a dark figure that forced her momentum to stop, nearly falling over. She now turned to face the body of Joseph Buquet, who was purple in the face and hanging heavily by a rope from the catwalks above.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, do not panic! Please remain in your seats. It was merely an accident — an accident!" the managers called over the screams from their box. Lilienne heard none of it; not the desperate cries of the performers who feared for their lives, not the horrified gasps from the audience, not the managers words of solace.

The body fell with a clunk to the stage. Lilienne rushed forward, not to the body, but she twirled around as she looked up for that dark figure, that cloaked mystery. _Quel crétin... qu'est-ce que avez-vous fait_? But she wasn't thinking of the Phantom, she was thinking of Joseph. What had he done to incite the wrath of the Ghost? The fool should have stayed well away, should have known better. 

Lilienne ran from the stage. The only thing she could think to do was climb. She flew up the spiraling steps backstage and found herself on the catwalks, above the panic.

" _Ange?"_ she called, quietly, comfortingly. She knew he was there. He had to be. He could see her, now. He could hear here. She knew it. She felt it. She felt him; she felt his distress.

She looked down to the mess below her. They blamed the Phantom; oddly enough, she couldn't stand it. The Paris Opera was afraid and enraged by his actions, but all Lilienne could feel was pity and sadness, and the Angel's torment.

_How can they excuse Joseph's prying? Can't they see he had this coming? Why are they all so afraid? It's not fair... it's not right... it's... it's..._

Lilienne's thoughts whirled in her brain like a storm. She couldn't think in this frenzy, she couldn't breath this petrified air. She fled, throwing a costume cape around her shoulders as she climbed even higher. She could only go up, higher and higher, and she didn't stop until she was greeted by the winter air high above Paris.

She let out a sigh, heavy with relief. Her heart and her mind began to slow in the gently falling snow and the crisp air, filling her chest with each breath. She walked slowly to the ledge and rested her arms on the cold stone, looking out over Paris that sat nestled below them in her majesty. 

She shook her head. The _Opéra Populaire_ would speak of nothing but the the Phantom for months, now, and how he murdered Joseph; they didn't care, they didn't see it the way Lilienne did. It as Joseph's own fault. He shouldn't have put his greasy nose where it didn't belong. 

"This is their own fault. Why can't they just mind their own business?" she muttered, "Why must they always blame him? Haven't they hurt him enough?"

She voiced her teeming questions into the winter wind, plagued by her pity — it tightened in her chest and burned in her eyes, this injustice.

"It shouldn't be this way," she murmured, "This wasn't the Phantom's doing."

As she said this, she felt a gentle breeze on her neck. It was warm, like a breath. She gasped in surprise and flew around, bracing herself on the ledge behind her. Nothing but a ballerina and snowflakes all the way up here. But, she noticed something, something that stood out against the white blanket.

Slowly, she made tracks through the thin layer of snow and knelt beside the crumpled petals of blood-red velvet. Picking up the delicate petals of the broken rose, her heart sunk in her chest.

"Oh, Christine... you stupid girl." 

Her whisper came out in a white cloud that evaporated into the night. She knew who had been here, what this poor rose meant; he had given her everything, and yet she still betrayed him. She whispered quieter yet as warm tears misted her eyes. 

" _Pauvre Ange..._ "

_Perhaps I gave up too soon?_ she thought to herself, _was I wrong to leave him?_ Now more than ever, she missed the Angel of Music — and it baffled her. Did she think that, had she stayed, she might have eased his confliction? Why should she miss the man who had been so cruel? But, he hadn't always been, she remembered; she could not forget his haunting voice, and her cheeks still blushed as she remembered his endearments.

She thought she heard the gentle sound of a swish and a scuffle, and her head jerked upward. Still nothing, except for a few swirling snowflakes that blew against the rest.

Pulling the familiar black ribbon from the bare stem, Lilienne stood. She walked across the roof to where her wash basin was hidden, tying up her honey coloured hair in the ribbon and untying her borrowed cape, carelessly letting it fall to the ground.

<><<>><>

The door to the roof flew open, and he dove instinctively behind one of the ornate statues. Peering out from behind the stone, he saw little Lilienne LaClaire, her eyes wide, her chest heaving. From his hiding place, he could even hear her rapid breaths.

 _Fille stupide..._ he mused, looking the little girl over, _dressed in nothing but a costume in the dead of winter..._ he drew in a spiteful breath. 

He watched as she closed her eyes and tilted her head up into the falling snow, letting out a heavy breath. She walked slowly to the ledge, resting upon it and looking out over the beautiful city below. He'd once believed this little dancer to be brave, in the most naïve sense. Now, as he looked over her, watching her recover from the fright he'd given her, his lip curled. She was no different from the rest of them. Clutching at his dark cape, he made to leave.

"This is their own fault" her gentle voice floated through the snow. He froze.

"Why can't they just mind their own business?" he heard her mutter, "Why must they always blame him?"

He stepped out from behind the statue, unable to believe what he was hearing. _Is she still not afraid? Even after I nearly dropped Buquet's body on her head?_ He took a step toward her, noting the black ribbon of silk in her hair.

"Haven't they hurt him enough?"

Another step closer.

"It shouldn't be this way. This wasn't the Phantom's doing."

She spoke quietly, but her words echoed deafeningly inside his head — she didn't blame him? He stepped forward again, close enough now to untie the black ribbon from her hair. He noticed her hands tense, as if she felt him behind her. He plunged into the safety of the statue once more as the girl whipped around.

He watched her watching for him, her eyes finally falling to the ground, where his rose lay, crumpled. He watched her approach it, kneel in the snow next to it, picking the petals up in her dainty hands. 

"Oh Christine... you stupid girl," she whispered. He could see her holding back tears. Was she... ? No, she couldn't possibly be on his side, could she?

" _Pauvre Ange..._ "

Her words were barely above a whisper, like a gentle summer breeze, and he collapsed against the stone statue. Pity. No one had ever given him so much before. He leapt away, stepping off the statue and landing higher on the roof. He hid behind a chimney as she looked up again — the entrance to one of his many passages.

Slowly, Lilienne LaClaire stood. Tying her hair up further on her head, and untying her thin cape. It fluttered to the ground behind her as she pulled a wash-basin out from behind a pillar. She disappeared inside once more, leaving him alone on the roof. He exhaled loudly; he tried to process what he'd heard, but his mind was blank.

Soon, the girl returned with a kettle of steaming water, pouring it into the tub. Next, her hands disappeared in front of her as she untied her corset, then she lifted the dress over her head. He knew he should leave, but he couldn't help but watch transfixed as one by one she unlaced the ribbons on her tights, sliding them down her legs. 

She now stood with her back to him in her chemise, which she pulled off her shoulders and let fall to the ground. He gawked at her as she stepped out of the underdress and into the basin, glancing over every delicate curve before she submerged her body in the warm water.

As she reclined in her bath, he pulled up a secret hatch on the roof, descending into the dark labyrinth of his passages. He made his way down, down, all the while his mind on the little girl on the roof.

_Elle ne me reproche pas... elle a même pitié de moi… elle n'a toujours pas peur du monstre..._

_Elle est encore plus naïve que je la croyais, cette fille bête._

And he descended into his lair, resolving to forget entirely about foolish Lilienne LaClaire.

<><<>><>


	13. XII. Journey To Belle-Lille

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the halfway point!

_Il Muto_ continued as planned for the next few days, with a few minor accommodations; Christine played the role of _Comtesse_ , and box five was left empty each night. their audience was smaller in size, but who could blame the Parisians? After a body was dropped on the performers heads on the opening night, they weren't as eager to attend the opera as usual. 

Even the performers themselves went about their business with unease, nobody without a partner to accompany them through the corridors. There was a weariness in their performances, dancers and actors performing with careful tension; they were treading on very thin ice.

Lilienne woke early in the morning, the sky still a dark shade of blue. Careful not to wake the other girls, she left the warmth of her covers and began to dress. But, not into her performance costume today; today marked the start of their break. She pulled up her tights, lacing the ribbons on her thighs, tied her corset, and donned a simple dress. The one in faded blue, with buttons down the front. She braided her hair back as she slipped from the room into the empty corridors, tying it with the ribbon of black silk.

Lilienne enjoyed these early mornings; she could eat her breakfast in peace. She entered the kitchen, where Mme DuPont, their chef, was only just beginning to prepare the meal.

" _Bon matin, Madame_."

" _Bon matin_ , Lilienne. You're up early this morning."

"You sound surprised."

The woman smiled at her as she poured them both a cup of tea. They usually spent the mornings like this, in each other's company, as Mme DuPont made toast and hot grains in her giant pot.

"So, Lili, there's a lot of buzz about the _bal masqué_. Will you be going out on the town today to find a dress?"

Of course, today the performers would be paid, and many of the women would be rushing straight out to find a glamorous gown for the upcoming masquerade ball in one week's time. But Lilienne had no intention on wasting her hard-earned money on something so frivolous; in fact, she didn't even intend on going to the _bal masqué._ Lilienne LaClaire would rather be anywhere than the middle of a large crowd. And as for dancing, well, she could barely do a ballet, so ballroom dancing was out of the question. Not that it mattered, because no one would ask her to dance, anyway.

"No. I don't think I'll be going to the ball. I have better ways to spend my money than on a gown I'll only wear once."

"You're a smart girl, Lili. But, perhaps you should be a little less smart for one night. A little fun has never done anyone harm. And you, my dear, should see some more of it."

Lilienne just smiled and nodded, promising to think about reconsidering. Though, her mind was already made up. She sipped her tea quietly and buttered the piece of toast Mme DuPont put on a plate for her.

Pretty soon, the other performers trickled in, and coffee was passed around like Camille. She watched them come in, Christine with the Vicomte de Chagny, Minet and Pauline clinging together as always. They approached her.

"Lili, you were up early this morning," Pauline said.

"Do you want to go dress shopping with us later, Lili, for the masked ball?" Minet asked.

" _Non, merci._ I have some... business... to attend to."

"Oh, that's right — Lilienne doesn't like to have fun," Pauline teased, prompting a snorting giggle from Minet. Lilienne just shook her head and sipped her tea; it was true, what Lilienne had said. There would be no time for dresses today.

Lilienne stood and left the kitchen in the direction of the managers' office as the dining hall filled. There were already a few performers waiting outside the office, and she filed in after them.

"Ah, Mlle LaClaire..." M André looked through his file when it was her turn, "here you are, your three hundred francs."

He handed her a small sac of coins. Thanking him quietly, she dipped her head and left the office, hurrying back up to her room. She was so intent on finishing this business of hers that she payed no heed to her direction.

"Oh! I'm so sorry, _Monsieur le Vicomte —_ " Yet again, Lilienne LaClaire had walked straight into the _Opéra Populaire_ 's patron.

"It's quite alright, Lilienne. No harm done. I think I'm getting used to it." He smiled warmly. "What's your hurry? You have a whole break ahead of you. Perhaps you'd like to go shopping for the ball with Mlle. Daaé and I."

"I appreciate the invitation, M. de Chagny, but I have something I must tend to. If you'll excuse me, I have a carriage to catch." She tried to leave, but this couple didn't seem to want to let her.

"Well, then perhaps Lilienne can take your carriage, and I will accompany you to the cemetery," the Vicomte offered.

"Of course, Raoul." Christine smiled gratefully. "He's waiting outside, Lili."

" _Merci_ Christine, M le Vicomte," she thanked them, turning to leave.

"Please, call me Raoul."

" _Bien sûr, M le Vicomte_."

With that, Lilienne left the couple to their business and went to do her own. She slipped back into her room, counting out her coins and putting seventy-five francs aside in a sac she kept under her pillow. The rest of the money she tucked into a pocket of her cloak, along with a book, wrapping it about her body.

As Christine had said, a carriage was waiting just outside the performer's entrance, a man in a warm cloak that covered him almost completely holding fast to the reins. Lilienne climbed in.

"Apologies, _Mademoiselle_ , but this carriage has been taken," the man's deep voice rasped.

"Yes, she's had a change of plans. She told me to take her carriage."

"Where are you headed, Mlle?" Lilienne did not miss the man's exasperated sigh.

"To _Belle-Lille_. It's an hour outside Paris."

"I have not been payed for such a journey." 

"Here, this should cover it." 

She handed him the difference in francs, and a few extra in hopes to soothe his bitterness. With a huff, he flicked the reins and the carriage rolled down the streets of early morning Paris.

The ride was silent at first, and Lilienne's stomach knotted; this trip was never one she looked forward to taking. She pulled her book from her cloak, opening the worn covers of _La belle et le bête._ Beauty and the Beast. It was one of her favourites, and she hoped it would help to calm her nerves. Even after all these years, she still feared seeing them; what if they hadn't forgiven her?

"What is it that you read, _Mademoiselle_?" The man finally broke the silence, surprising Lilienne. It had been a while already before he'd finally spoken to her.

" _La Belle et le Bête_. It's my favourite — I think it is the most beautiful story ever told." 

She hesitated before speaking again, not sure if her companion wished to hear her, but deciding that she didn't care.

"It shows us how wrong we can be about people; even the ugliest and most fearsome of us still deserve love. In the end, the Prince was a good man who just needed someone to lead him out of his beastly ways. I... I knew a man like this, once."

"Did you?" he replied in only half-interest. "Certainly he must've been a vile creature, if you no longer wish to know him."

"Of course not. Well, yes... but he was more than that. I saw a side to him that nobody else seems to see. He... he was good to me."

"Then, you regret leaving this man, this beast?" The man's voice suddenly lost its rasp, and he seemed properly attentive now, as if her answer could change everything.

"He's not a beast — at least I don't think so. He seems a beast, but I think there's a secret beauty no one can see."

Lilienne stared at the man's back, covered by his cloak; had her ears deceived her? Had his voice forgotten its rasp? For a moment, she had thought it sounded soft, like a fine velvet, warm in its deep tones. 

They passed the last stretch to the edge of Belle-Lille in silence again, Lilienne forsaking her book to watch the carriage driver; there was something about that voice that seemed so pleasantly familiar, that was if she hadn't only imagined his sudden lapse of rasp. But if she hadn't, then what kind of man would disguise his voice?

<><<>><>


	14. XIII. Belle-Lille

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What? A whole chapter in the Phantom's POV? Don't mind if I do!

If the stiff seat and the bumps weren't unpleasant enough, the silence that settled between him and his passenger certainly was. It hadn't been so before; he had been perfectly content to ignore her and brood over being forced into this long and uncomfortable trip. But this little girl's words seemed to press up against him and make him uncomfortable in his cloak.

 _The girl is completely naïve, the poor thing,_ he thought with distaste, _t_ _he world is going to walk all over this one._

And yet, there was once a time when he felt compelled to shelter this poor, innocent woman from the harshness. _But she was too soft, too weak, and too big a waste of my time._

However, the things she said stirred something inside him; a part of him that wished they were true. There was a brief moment when he had thought that perhaps her naivety could do him good. But, he had shut out all hope long ago, learning that there was no place for it within him — and he resented her for arousing it in him.

He led the carriage into the quaint town with its streets lined with flowers. This was not a place for a person like himself; he could easily hide in the crowds of Paris, but in a small town like this, he would stand out. He hated this journey more and more.

"Could you stop here, please?"

Her small voice sounded behind him, like a mouse — small and skittish — and he eased the carriage to the side of the streets. Climbing down, he stretched his legs as he watched the girl walk down the street. _Ever the dancer_ , he thought amusedly as he watched her dancer's feet carry her swiftly and gracefully through the morning mist.

Suddenly, she stopped by a roadside stall, where a man in a beret was selling flowers. She bought a single bud - a lily. _If she's brought me all this way to buy flowers_... he wasn't sure what painful end she might meet for a round-trip of cramped legs, a stiff back and a sore rear over a bouquet. He saw her pull the ribbon from her hair — a long black ribbon — and tie it around the flower and her small coin sac.

Suddenly, with her hairhanging lose down her back, she seemed older somehow. The pretty young face somehow seemed more striking, framed by her gentle waves of honey.

He watched her, curiously, as she crossed the street; she laid the flower and the money on the walkway by the door of a small home and knocked slowly. Then she fled. She was already at his side again by the time the door opened.

A man stepped out, a young girl of four or five years following him. The little girl stooped, picking up the gift, taking a special interest in the flower. The man picked her up, handing her to the woman who joined him by his side, and they all look far down each direction of the street. The carriage driver looked down to the girl who stood next to him.

"I must return to the opera house, now," she ordered, in an obvious hurry to leave. Suddenly, he felt a pang of empathy for her; he knew all too well the look on her face. The look of horrid longing.

He clicked his tongue and the horses moved on. He directed them back the way they'd come with less dread than he'd started this journey with. He no longer seemed to feel bitter over his aches and taking a trip that he should never have had to take in the first place.

"Who were they?" he asked simply after several minutes of silence, making certain that his voice wasn't his own.

"My family. _Ma mère, mon père et ma petite sœur_. They're the reason I came to the _Opéra Populaire_."

"You give them money."

"With a new baby sister, my parents couldn't support our family. They thought I wouldn't know, that being only eleven years of age I wouldn't understand, but I did. And I had to go, to help in whatever way I could."

"But, why the opera?" The girl in the carriage behind him was definitely not a match for the opera lifestyle.

"It seemed interesting, and glamorous at the time. And it payed the best. At any rate, it was better than churning butter."

"How much do you give them?" He knew he shouldn't pry, and yet his curiosity continued to deepen.

"Two hundred and twenty five francs each month." She answered simply, as if it were a small matter.

"You give them three quarters?" This bewildered him; how could somebody live for so little and give so much of their hard-earned money?

" _Monsieur_ , how do you know my salary?"

He could feel her eyes burning holes through him. In his astonishment, he'd spoken too quickly. He scrambled for an explanation.

"I spend far too much time around you performers. I can often find good business at the opera house."

" _Bien sûr_." He could tell she was skeptical — this girl saw things plainly.

They rode on in silence again, and waves of revelations washed over him; he had been entirely wrong about little Lilienne LaClaire. She was not naïve. As just a young girl, she already understood the world better than most. She was not weak. She had run away from home, entered a world in which she didn't fit to support her family.

He had, until now, thought she had been innocent of the world; for how could someone so pure have been tainted by its ugliness? And yet, she still seemed white as snow. _How can someone who's seen such hardship be so pure?_

And, if she wasn't so weak, then what was the reason she abandoned their lessons? What was more, if she wasn't so innocent and naïve, could she be right about him?

" _Eh bien, Monsieur_ , you must enjoy the opera, seeing as you spend so much of your time there." She spoke after several more moments of silence.

" _Oui_ , music is my greatest joy. But only when done well, and some of the musicians at the _Opéra Populaire_... are a few sharps short of a key."

" _Ange..._ "

She whispered his name, and he heard her small gasp as she recognized the joke, realizing who the man in front of her was. He seized the reins, the pair of horses whinnying in protest, the carriage coming to an abrupt halt. 

He didn't know what drove him to do it, but in a flash he had whipped around and was holding the girl by her neck. Instinctively, her hands had grasped his wrist, and her wide eyes stared up at him; a lovely mix of green and brown, warm, he noted as he glared into them.

"And now you know what beast you have kept the company of all this time," he hissed. "If you so dare to scream, you will never use that pretty little voice of yours again."

"I knew..."

These two words passed her lips, less than a whisper around his grip. His hand tightened; how could she have known? It wasn't possible. She was lying.

"How?" he asked.

"I just knew," she struggled to answer.

"If you had known, you would not still be here." He squeezed yet tighter as his fury deepened, watching her face as she fought to breathe.

"I'm not afraid."

By now, her words were hardly more than mouthed. Instantly he dropped her, and she fell back with a sharp intake of air. He watched as she sat, her shoulders heaving as she breathed. They spent several moments in silence. He breath eventually relaxed.

"You are a fool if you do not fear the Ghost," he told her. She composed herself once more, looking up at him with her brown eyes, tinged with green.

"Why should I fear an Angel?"

He was taken aback by her question; he'd just very nearly strangled the girl. How could she still be unafraid? Perhaps he had been right; she was definitely too naïve for her own good. 

He cleared his throat and straightened his cloak, returning to his position and grabbing hold of the reins.

"I should return you to the opera." 

Before he had the chance to start the carriage rolling, there was the swish of a cape and suddenly Lilienne had climbed into the front of the carriage. He looked down at her, watching her in bewilderment; could it be possible that she would sit next to him?

His breath caught as she looked up at him again, a small smile rounding he cheeks that were blushing against the cold. His eyes immediately flicked away and the carriage rolled forward again.

It wasn't much farther to Paris, and soon they were among familiar streets and buildings. He took comfort from them — he'd never been outside of Paris since coming to the _Opéra Populaire_. Until today, that was. 

They pulled up to the performer's entrance from whence he'd received her. Sliding out of the carriage, he went 'round to assist his passenger. She accepted with a sort of surprised gratitude, her eyes wide and a quick smile coming to her face as she took his hand.

In a gesture that took him by surprise, she curtsied low to him. He bowed his head in return, and smiled in amusement; he watched her rise and make her way back into the opera house, casting one final glace over her shoulder before vanishing, out of sight.

He himself vanished, slipping unseen into one of the secret entrances to his home below the opera house. He made his way down the dark tunnels, avoiding with ease his many traps; he knew where each and every one was positioned. But, as he descended, his mind stayed above ground with the girl who had pried him away from Paris and dragged him along on her weary trip; he'd felt bitter for this at first, but when he'd learned the truth, he had suddenly felt something new. 

He had been wrong about this little girl, and now, she was not so much of a little girl in his sight.

<><<>><>


	15. XIV. Return To The Angel

Lilienne sat with her legs tucked under her on the stage in the darkened theatre. She didn't know if he was coming, but still she sat patiently in the small circumference of light, hands folded in her lap, humming gently to occupy her mind; _does he know I'm waiting? Would he even come?_

Suddenly, the stage brightened as the other lights blazed to life to mark his entrance. A smile instantly brightened her face, and her eyes flew to the high ceiling.

"I see you have been waiting," the deep tones of his voice echoed.

" _Ange..._ you came."

"What sort of teacher would I be if I abandoned my pupil?"

"And what sort of pupil was I to abandon my patient teacher? _Ange_ , I want to apologize..." she bowed her head and gazed into her lap shamefully, "I gave up too soon. I lost faith."

"Faith in _ton Ange_?"

"Faith in myself. But I think I am ready, now, to sing for you."

" _Très bien, ma douce fille_. We shan't waste time, then, as you've had an extended break from your lessons. Let us begin."

In that instant, she heard his music again. The aria _Pense à Moi_ filled the space around her until it seeped under her skin. It was a sense of release, to be surrounded by the Angel's music.

_Think of me, t_ _hink of me fondly_

_When we've said goodbye._

_Remember me o_ _nce in awhile,_

_Please promise me you'll try —_

_When you find that once again you long t_ _o take your heart back and be free,_

_If you ever find a moment, s_ _pare a thought for me._

" _Oui, ma petite, bien fait,_ " he praised. Lilienne clasped her hands in front of her, embarrassed.

" _Vraiment, mon Ange_?"

" _Bien sûr, ma chère._ But, you are still shy. You're not moving enough air. We'll begin where we left off," he instructed. The music swelled once more.

_We never said our love was evergreen_

_Or as unchanging as the sea,_

_But if you can still remember,_

_Stop and think of me._

"Do not stop," she heard him say. Then, the accompaniment dropped out, but she kept on singing, as ordered.

_Think of all the things we've shared and seen —_

_Don't think about the way things might have been._

In the silence while she took a breath, she heard a soft whisper so close behind her that she could've leaned back into him.

"Don't be alarmed. Just think about my hand."

At this, she felt his arm encircle her waist, his hand applying the gentlest pressure to her stomach. She kept singing _a cappella,_ only now it was more difficult to focus with the Angel of Music's warm breath on her neck, and the sweet scent of his roses, the smoke of candles and something that smelled fresh — like lake water — wafting faintly around her.

_Think of me,_

Already there was a change in her voice with this simplest of gestures.

_Think of me waking, silent and resigned._

_Imagine me_

_Trying too hard to put you from my mind._

_Recall those days, look back on all those times,_

_Think of the things we'll never do —_

_There will never be a day when I won't think of you._

Now she stopped singing and spun around in his arms to face him. She looked up at the Angel of Music, at the Phantom of the Opera. For a moment, there was only silence as she stared up and he stared back down from behind his mask. Lilienne felt a hot blush flood her cheeks. He stepped back, taking her hands.

"Do you see the difference? It's not enough simply to move air, you must use it to support the music — to make it fly." 

" _Ange_... that was magnificent! What did you do?" she asked in wonder; he had a miraculous ability to bring forth her loveliest voice.

"I did nothing, _enfant_. That was already in you."

She blushed again, taking her hands back to wring them embarrassedly. There was again a silence between them.

"What is that you have with you?" she heard him ask, and Lilienne looked to the basket beside her to which he referred.

"I... I thought perhaps I could make amends. It's a cake. For us to share. If you'd like," she stammered, blushing.

"You needn't go out of your way..."

"Oh, no, I didn't bake it — Mme. DuPont left it in the kitchen..."

She stammered further. She had in fact baked this cake, but she'd also known he wouldn't have wanted her going to any trouble for him. Lying was something she was unaccustomed to doing, but she figured they'd both benefit from this one.

"In that case, I suppose the Angel could allow you to end your lesson early tonight." The corner of his mouth visible from out of the mask turned upward.

Lilienne couldn't seem to help but smile in return. She hurried to her basket and knelt beside it, bidding the Angel to do the same. He did so tentatively, and she removed from the basket a plate covered with a tea towel. Removing the towel, she revealed a small chocolate cake. She also removed two more plates, two small forks and a serving knife from the basket. She cut two slices, handing one to her teacher.

" _Merci, Mlle. LaClaire,_ " he said before taking a bite.

" _De rien, M. de l'Opéra_." He laughed at this, and Lilienne suddenly felt self-conscious.

"Did I say something wrong?"

"No, child. It simply sounds silly to be called _Monsieur de l'Opéra_." Lilienne opened her mouth to apologize, but he stopped her as he raised his hand. "Do not misunderstand me, my dear. I enjoyed it."

Lilienne smiled timidly, watching him eat another bite of 'Mme. DuPont's' cake. She seemed to be too paralyzed in his presence to eat her own. The Phantom continued.

"Much like I enjoy this cake. It's quite delicious. My compliments to the chef."

"I'll be sure to tell Mme. DuPont," she said with a blush.

A quietness filled in around them as they ate. It wasn't the uncomfortable kind of quiet, where one feels obligated to speak; a pleasant silence settled among them, the kind when one feels _à l'aise_ without the nagging feeling of obligation. Between the two of them, they managed to finish the dessert, quietly enjoying the sweet treat.

"You seem to have a fondness for chocolate," Lilienne observed as he scraped his plate with his fork. 

" _Surtout —_ I've always had a certain sweet tooth for chocolate. And now that the Phantom has told you his weakness, I'm afraid he's going to have to kill you." Lilienne laughed at this. "Unless, perhaps, you tell me one of yours."

"I don't know..." her laughter quickly faded. She averted her gaze, letting it settle in her lap, "I–I've depended only on myself for these many years. I suppose there isn't much I have left."

"Oh, come now, everyone has a weakness."

Lilienne looked up at him, looking back at her from behind his mask, dark and dashing in his smart attire. In that moment, she had a desire to reach out and remove his mask, to see the whole of his handsome face. The face of the Angel — of the Phantom — sitting just one reach away.

"I do," she said, her voice just barely above a whisper as her breath was suddenly taken from her. She spoke hesitantly "...Music."

"There is nothing more beautiful than music, _ma chère_." She blushed at this name.

"Than your music, no, there isn't."

"My music..." He looked at her, almost astonished, "no one has ever said such about my music before."

"Then they are fools," she replied, too quickly.

Lilienne blushed from embarrassment. She wanted to hide her face, but she couldn't look away. There was a vulnerability in his eyes, and she couldn't tear her own eyes from his gaze. And, it seemed, there might have been a blush behind his mask.

Against her better judgement, she lifted her hand and extended it towards his face. She knew she shouldn't do it, but she couldn't seem to stop herself. And, for a moment, it seemed as if he might let her. Slowly, her hand drifted to the white mask.

Just as she made to touch it, to grasp it, to pull it away, his hand flew up and snatched hers in mid-air. She gasped as his gloved fingers closed tightly around her wrist, just an inch from his face. He stood sharply, holding her hand above her.

"Now, now, _ma fille,_ " he said harshly, "we mustn't touch what isn't ours."

"I'm sorry, _Ange_ , I only wanted —"

"To unmask the beast?" His laugh was almost crazed. "You dare to confront me, face to face?"

"No, _ange..._ "

"You are afraid, after all. I should have known better than to trust a silly little naïve girl." He threw her hand down with such force, her whole body fell to the stage.

" _Non, mon Ange_ , I'm not afraid."

"You wicked girl, you little lying Delilah," he hissed, hovering over her, "I could kill you, right here — are you not afraid of death?"

"You won't — I know you won't..." she sputtered, "I know there's a man behind the mask — a good man. Whatever they call you, it's not true. You wouldn't have been so kind if it was."

"You are too naïve for your own good; it is true what they say about the Opera Ghost." 

With a swish of his cape, he made to leave her there, huddled on the stage as he disappeared into the depths of the opera and likely never to return to her. He stalked off, his cape billowing behind him like a shadow.

"Perhaps. But those aren't the only truths," she called. He stopped suddenly, without turning back to her.

"Yes, you could've killed me, but you let me go. I see more than just a Ghost, and what I see doesn't frighten me." She saw his head turn, just slightly.

"I'm sorry, _Ange._ I shouldn't have pried. I never meant to betray your trust, I had only hoped you trusted me enough to..."

"To remove this wretched mask?" He turned back to her, now. "Trust me, _enfant_ , I wear this mask to shield you, not I."

"I'm sorry, _Ange_ ," she said again, hanging her head shamefully, "I let my curiosity run away with me." 

"Well, you know what they say about the cat." Lilienne laughed, just a little, and some of the tension between them diffused.

" _Bon nuit, fillette_."

" _Bon nuit, mon Ange_."

And he disappeared in an instant, like a puff of smoke, leaving Lilienne to rise slowly on the empty stage, place the plates in the basket again and return to her bed. She slipped quietly under her blankets as not to disturb the peacefully sleeping girls, taking comfort in the shadows and the dark. She imagined her Angel, hiding among them, watching over her.

<><<>><>


	16. XV. Le Bal Masqué

Lilienne scurried through the opera house, trying to make herself as small as possible lest she get in the way of the grand preparations; tonight, they celebrated another successful year — tonight was the Opéra Populaire's famous _Bal Masqué._

She watched the decorations being put into place as she kept out of the way. Lilienne LaClaire wanted nothing to do with any ball. The only thing she would be concerning herself with tonight was the book she clutched to her chest. Yet, she did still marvel at the splendor they were arranging; it was always an breath-taking experience, to watch the transformation of the opera house.

Moving into a quieter section of the opera house that wasn't undergoing decorating, Lilienne took refuge in her room. She closed the door behind her, sealing out the rest of the world, intending to sit upon her bed and read the day away until the whole ordeal was over and the corridors were once again safe to walk without being bombarded by ribbons and anything that sparkled.

Entering her room, she deflated. She was met with the giddy chatter and girly squealing of Minet and Pauline, who were talking dresses and shoes and gloves and such.

"Oh, Lili, isn't it so exciting!?" Minet asked in a tone that hurt Lilienne's ears.

"Is what exciting?"

"Why, the masquerade ball, of course! I was just showing Pauly my dress." She held it up in front of her body, showing it off for Lilienne, who really couldn't have cared less.

"I absolutely love this shade of green — it's so exotic!"

"Oh, so exotic!" Pauline echoed.

"And you should just see the way the jewels on the hem look when I twirl!"

"You're going to be the belle of the ball, Minny!"

"I know! And these are the gloves — I found them in this little _boutique_..."

Lilienne let them carry on, drowning out their girlish giddies in her book; _Le Bossu De Notre Dame_ ; a deformed man who was cursed to hide above the cathedral, when he fell in love with a pretty young girl, but she loved another man, handsome and valiant, and a total fop. Lilienne loved this tale for its irony; the handsome man was no more than his appearance, yet the man who hid his deformed face from the world, he was the man who was truly beautiful. This book asked the question of what makes a man, and what makes a monster.

Minet and Pauline eventually left Lilienne in peace as they went to pamper themselves for the big night, much like all the other girls of the Paris Opera — with one exception.

<><<>><>

Lilienne closed the cover of her book, heaving a satisfied sigh. She had read this story many times, and loved it more each time. She placed the finished book beside her on the bed, looking up for the first time since she'd lit her candle, perhaps an hour or two before.

Her room was dark, save for the single candle on her nightstand. The world outside had grown dark, and with the night, the ball commenced. Lilienne could hear the music drifting up to meet her where she sat on her bed, tucked safely away. It floated around her as if to tease her, to tempt her.

_"But perhaps you should be a little less smart for one night. A little fun has never done anyone harm. And you, my dear, should see some more of it."_

Mme DuPont's words rung in her ears, and she could feel the pull of the music and glamour. _Perhaps I should try something new. The Angel of Music is always telling me to break past my walls, maybe tonight is the night I start._

And she thought for a moment, that what better place was there for a masked man than a masked ball? Perhaps he would attend... Lilienne felt _des papillons_ fluttering in her stomach.

With a new determination, she jumped from her bed and rejoined the outer world. She hadn't a dress, but in an opera house, that wasn't a problem. Lilienne slipped through the corridors, winding her way backstage to where all the costumes were kept.

<><<>><>

Step by step, Lilienne LaClaire descended the grand stairs of the Paris Opera to where hundreds of people in masks danced. Perhaps it was her corset, or perhaps it was her nerves, but with each step she found it more difficult to breath, and she burned under the glances of the others who stared up at the angel gliding down the steps. 

She wore a ballet costume for an angel, complete with tights, slippers, feathery wings and sliver halo. She was grateful for the sparkling glitter she wore in place of a mask, for it hid her blush.

She reached the bottom of the steps, immersing herself in the parade of paper faces; flashes of mauve, splashes of puce, fools and kings, ghouls and geese; a merry-go-round of an inhuman race, and it flung her to and fro, round and round.

She tried to keep her distance, hovering at the edges of the room. She clasped her hands in front of herself uncomfortably. _Maybe I was wrong... perhaps I shouldn't have come..._ she mused, wondering if she was right to try and be something else for a night.

Suddenly, her path was blocked by a tall figure, and she stopped dead in her tracks with a gasp; he was dressed entirely in red, with a sinister white mask to cover his face. Around his eyes he'd painted black, giving the illusion of a skull. He was chilling and entrancing. The man pressed a champagne glass into her hand.

With that, he was gone. Vanished, as if he'd never appeared. Just like a ghost. Lilienne's breath caught in her chest — could it have been...? She sipped her drink, the champagne not the only bubbly sensation she felt.

She tried to make the drink last. She would need it tonight. Eventually, she felt her nerves relax, allowing the spectacle to astound her. She found Minet and Pauline, deciding to avoid them, her third roommate Camille, who was being passed around the room. The Diva Carlotta hung off Pinagi's arm. They hadn't been hard to find at all. She saw Christine enter with the Vicomte, lovely in her pink dress, even more radiant in her smile. Lilienne's stomach knotted at the sight, hoping that the Angel wouldn't see his favourite pupil on the arm of another man.

Suddenly, Lilienne felt a hand on her shoulder. She flung around in surprise, to see the man in red again. He took her hand. 

Without so much as a word, he led her in the direction of the dancing. She made to protest, but she couldn't seem to form the words; this man seemed to have cast a spell over her. All she could do was smile as he pulled her in.

As a waltz was cued, he took her waist and swung her 'round. She had no choice but to melt into his arms and let him lead her around the room. She felt just a bit embarrassed that she was so helpless, for dancing was her livelihood, yet this man had her beat. He was an expert dancer.

She looked up at him, unable to tear her eyes away as they danced in dramatic sweeping motions to the swelling music. She couldn't help the blush that formed on her cheeks as she looked up at him; though she was _en pointe —_ she couldn't dance any other way — he was still taller than her. He looked down upon her, returning her gaze, and it pierced right through her.

He spun her around, the skirt of her dress twirling about her legs, and a smile broke across Lilienne's face. Without letting go of her hand, the man bowed low to her, pressing his lips to her fingers. Lilienne blushed, still smiling as she watched him disappear through the crowd.

Breathing heavily, Lilienne fluttered to the sides again, the smile still lingering. _How romantic_ , she thought to herself as she regained control of her mind, _that a mysterious stranger should dance with me_. She almost couldn't believe it; those things only happened in her books, never to her. Yet, she felt that there was something about him that had seemed so familiar...

Just then, there were gasps from the crowd. She looked over to see none other than her man in red, descending the stairs, but now she knew who had crashed their party, and who had danced with her. She tried to hide her smile

"Why so silent, good Messieurs? Did you think that I had left you for good?"

He took each step slowly, his long sash trailing behind him. Lilienne had to bite her lip to suppress her smile — _where else would a masked man be, other than a masked ball?_

"Have you missed me, good Messieurs? I have written you an opera." 

Lilienne remembered the night of her very first lesson, many weeks ago. He had asked her a favour, and she had sung his opera for him. She remembered it bar for bar, note for note, word for word.

"Here I bring the finished score; Don Juan Triumphant!" 

He threw it at the manager's feet, and Lilienne couldn't help her feelings of excitement; the Phantom's opera would finally be performed. His beautiful music would be heard.

"Fondest greetings to you all. A few instructions just before rehearsals start; Carlotta must be taught to act, not her normal trick of strutting about the stage. Our Don Juan must loose some weight — it's not healthy in a man of Pinagi's age. And my manager's must learn that their place is in an office, not the arts."

Lilienne almost couldn't withhold her laughter; in just a few moments, one man had managed to address all the issues that an entire opera cast couldn't deal with in months. And, she had to admit, the Phantom had a sense of humour, only made all the funnier by all these people who didn't understand it.

"And as for our star," he continued, "Miss Christine Daaé — no doubt she'll do her best. It's true her voice is good, but she knows though, should she wish to excel, she has much still to learn if pride would let her return to me, her teacher."

Christine stepped forward from the crowd, walking slowly to meet her teacher. Shocked glances and whispered drifted through the spectators, but Lilienne wasn't surprised. She felt something else as she watched the Phantom of the Opera melt in front of this chorus girl; _are you all watching?_ She wanted to scream at them all. _Do you see how he loves her? This man is not a monster!_

"You're chains are still mine — you belong to me!"

With that, he tore the chain from around her neck, and as it popped, Lilienne felt a new sensation grip her chest. She took an involuntary step forward, and he disappeared into the floor with a flare of fire and smoke.

All hell broke loose in the Paris Opera. Everyone picked up their skirts and flees to the streets, but Lilienne fought against the crowd and ran further into the opera house. She didn't stop until she was in her room, closing the door and leaning heavily against it. She was breathing quickly, but not as quickly as her mind was spinning.

The Phantom of the Opera had attended their party to give them his opera, and they were to perform it. Her nails dug into her hands as she remembered their duet — The Point Of No Return — how the music had taken root inside her, commanding her entire body, how his voice had echoed around her, how the words felt. But that part was for Christine, she knew.

Again, there was that new sensation she had felt when he tore the chain from around her neck; it made her heart lurch, and her stomach felt like it was boiling.

Lilienne, taking in a deep breath, pulled her dressing robe about her body. She left her room again, slipping into the kitchen which was empty _grâce à_ the Phantom's intrusion. She lit the stove, boiled water, then lugged the water upward through the opera house. She needed fresh air, she needed to think, and she needed to wash the glitter off her face. She stepped out onto the roof, emptying the water into the washtub, undressing and immersing herself into the hot bath. She immediately felt better, her mind slowing and her body relaxing.

She tugged the pins from her hair and let it fall down her back, the ends trailing in the water. She tangled her fingers through her hair and massaged her head. _Non, tu n'est pas jalouse de Christine Daaé,_ she told herself. _Oui, tu souhaites que tu puisses chanter comme elle, et oui, tu souhaites que l'Ange de la Musique te regarde comme il la regarde..._

_Non_ , she contradicted herself, _Tu ne penses pas de l'Ange comme ça. Comment peux-tu? C'est impossible; tu sais que tu n'est pas Christine Daaé..._

Lilienne took in a sharp breath and plunged face-first into the water, washing off the sparkles and forcing her mind away from such thoughts; jealousy was not Godly, nor was it flattering, and she couldn't have her Angel thinking that she wanted him all to herself, now, could she? _Tu ne devrais penser comme_ _ça, Lilienne. Ce n'est pas juste._

She came up out of the water, gasping for air, water streaming into her eyes. She ran her hands again through her dripping hair, pulling it away from her face so she could see nighttime Paris. She leaned forward on the basin, resting her chin in her hands as she looked over the city that glowed so warmly through the cold.

_You have brought me_

_To that moment where words run dry,_

_To that moment where speech disappears into silence,_

_Silence._

She sang it quietly, only for herself, letting it ease her thoughts and distract her from the events that had just passed.

_I have come here,_

_Hardly knowing the reason why._

_In my mind I've already imagined our bodies entwining,_

_Defenseless and silent,_

_Now I am here with you, no second thoughts —_

_I've decided,_

_Decided._

She let it occupy her every sense, going back to the night of her first lesson, remembering clearly each detail; the echo of his voice and the way it had greeted hers, every little sensation, every breath she took.

_Past the point of no return,_

_No backward glances —_

_Our games of make-believe are at an end._

_Past all thought of right or wrong,_

_On final question —_

_How long should we two wait before we're one?_

She let her voice flow more freely as the music took root in her, forgetting about the ears that might hear her, letting it come as it may as it drifted through the winter's night.

_When will the blood begin to race,_

_The sleeping bud burst into bloom,_

_When will the flames at last consume us?_

_Past the point of no return,_

_The final threshold —_

_The bridge is crossed, so stand and watch it burn;_

_We've past the point of no return._

She let the last note echo softly back at her off the stone walls, dispersing into the dark to be forgotten. But she would remember, because it would never stop echoing in her. The feeling of boiling in her stomach returned.

<><<>><>


	17. XVI. Journey To The Cemetery

Lilienne sat at the small table that served as the girl's vanity, twisting her hair into a braid in the half-light of early morning; she had awoken before the sun, too restless to fall back asleep. The sky was only just beginning to lighten with the faintest shades of blue, yet she was already up and dressed.

She tied the black ribbon in her hair to hold its braid and stared at her reflection in this dim lighting; the features of her face seemed softer, her skin smoother, everything obscured in the semi-darkness. Yet, in absence of light, her eyes seemed brighter. Lilienne always liked her reflection better in the soft light of evening or early morning, like it was now.

Lilienne stood, silently moving to the window to glance over the start of the day. Not much moved, just the few who'd decided to get an early start on their day; the paperboy rode down the damp streets on his bicycle, tossing his papers, a carriage driver was hitching his horse, and she could see Mme DuPont heaving a sac of flour in for later use.

Just then, none other than Christine Daaé stepped into the dim morning. Even from this distance, Lilienne could see that she was dressed in black. It was no secret that she often visited her father's grave. And Lilienne could understand why the girl might wish to see him now. Though, she couldn't understand what her dilemma was with the Phantom's opera. She thought it should be obvious what she should do.

She was about to leave her place at the frosty window for a cup of tea with Mme DuPont in the kitchen, but before she could look away, something caught her eye; the Vicomte de Chagny had jumped onto his horse and taken off through Paris, riding hard.

It hit Lilienne so hard, she let out an loud gasp before she could stop herself for fear of waking the other girls. If Raoul was chasing after Christine, that could only mean one thing, and her mind instantly went to the carriage driver — he had pulled this trick before. 

She flew from the room, leaving the door open behind her; she didn't have time to close it. If the Phantom had gone with Christine, and Raoul was close behind, then this could only ever end badly.

She grabbed a costume cloak as she ran from the opera house, greeted by the winter air that had yet to be touched by the sun's warmth. She threw the cloak around her shoulders as she ran, not feeling the stinging cold between the running and the adrenaline.

She ran flat-out for what felt like ages, as if she couldn't get there fast enough. She stumbled along the path as it changed beneath her feet to a muddy trail, breathing hard, panic spurring her onward. She had to do _something,_ or else somebody was going to die. She was the only one who knew, she was the only one who could protect her Angel; from the Vicomte, and from himself.

She reached the cemetery, falling against the gate as her lungs heaved for air. She saw the carriage, tied to a post mere yards away. It was empty — he was already inside, probably already with Christine, probably already facing Raoul. There was a metallic clanking from among the headstones, the grating sound making Lilienne's head jerk up as her fears were confirmed.

She ran through the cemetery, following the sound of the clanking through the tombstones. She wove around the graves as the sounds became more distinct, until she could hear their grunts.

Then, she saw the swish of a black cape and heard the Vicomte shout — obviously, the Phantom was winning. She watched him pick himself up, taking the offensive. Lilienne's stomach writhed inside her as she watched from behind a grave-marker; neither man could lose, yet neither could win. It would be disastrous either way.

She gasped as Raoul knocked the Phantom to the ground, forcing the sword from his hand and kicking it away in a flurry of white powder. Without thinking, Lilienne leapt forward.

"No, Raoul!"

She threw herself onto the Vicomte as he reared back, ready to deliver the final blow and run the Angel through. He pushed her aside with ease, the hilt of his sword making hard contact with her head. She fell back into the snow, dazed and disoriented, and with nothing else to do, she scrambled along the ground, right in between him and the Phantom.

"No!" 

"Lilienne?" The Vicomte asked, noticing her for the first time.

"Lili?" Christine spoke from behind him. "What are you doing?"

"Not like this," was all she could say, breathlessly.

"You should be at the opera house," the Vicomte remarked, a mixture of annoyance and concern in his voice.

"And you should return there. Now."

She instructed with an uncharacteristic authority. She saw the Vicomte's eyes flick between her and the Phantom who lay sprawled in the snow behind her. Putting his sword back in its sheath, he and Christine mounted his horse, riding back to warmth and safety. They looked down upon the two of them skeptically as they passed.

"Now, let it be war upon you both." 

The Phantom had stood in a frenzy of frustration, infuriated by his defeat, and Lilienne could practically feel his seething anger. He shook the snow from his cape with obvious annoyance, still breathing hard from the duel.

"Don't be so dramatic." Lilienne spoke up, still sitting on the ground. He turned to face her.

"Mlle LaClaire, you shouldn't have come here." His irritation showed.

"I had to come. Either way, neither of you could have won."

His expression softened, and he walked up to her, extending his hand to her. She accepted it, allowing him to pull her off the ground.

"You're head..." He stood her in front of himself, his eyes resting on her forehead. Lilienne's hand immediately flew to the injury the Vicomte had accidentally inflicted upon her, feeling the warm liquid. 

"No, don't. Let me."

He produced a handkerchief from somewhere in his cloak, gently dabbing the blood from her head. Despite the cold, a flush formed on her face.

"I–I'm fine, really. It's not so bad," she stammered.

"You must be cold," he remarked, looking at the thin cape that barely covered her arms. He removed his own, moving behind her to place it over her shoulders. Its warmth instantly flooded her.

Suddenly, his hand was pressed to her mouth, a strange smell filling her nose. She tried to fight it, but almost immediately her body became heavy, her knees weak, and her head light. She felt herself sink back into him, his arms wrapped around her as everything dissolved into blackness.

<><<>><>

She squirmed in his arms as he covered her mouth and nose with the cloth in his hand, but it didn't take long for the ether to takes its effect. Soon, she slumped back into him. He hadn't wanted to do it, but he couldn't take any risks.

He picked her up, carrying her to the carriage. As a dancer, she was quite light. Leaving the cemetery behind, he returned to the borrowed carriage, laying her gently in the back and wrapping his cape more tightly about her. _What kind of person goes out in this weather with nothing but a costume cape? h_ e thought scoldingly, yet with amusement. And also a slight and unnerving concern.

Untying the carriage, he wrapped another cloak about himself, covering most of his face. With a flick of the reins, they were headed back to the _Opéra Populaire_ where Lili could get well and warm. But not by means of the fools at the opera house. No, this had come about because of him, and he was going to righten it.

<><<>><>


	18. XVII. The Phantom's Lair

Lilienne woke in the morning, warm in the soft blankets of her bed. She rolled over, eyes still contentedly closed, and pulled them tighter about her, not wishing to get up just yet. She was sure there was still time before rehearsals. She sighed, hoping to fall back asleep.

But something wasn't right. The warm, soft blankets didn't feel like her warm, soft blankets, and the air she had sighed was too stale, to damp, smelled to much of candles and water — an odd combination. 

She opened her eyes, just a little, just enough to see the blankets she'd pulled up to her chin. What she was wrapped in wasn't her blankets, but a large piece of black material. She expanded her vision to the foreign bed, and then to the new room. She sat bolt upright. _What is this place?_ She looked at her blanket more closely; it wasn't a blanket at all. It was a cape. Lilienne gasped, jumping from the bed.

The bed resembled a swan, with detailed wings fanning out from the front to guard Lilienne as she had slept atop the red sheets of velvet. It was quite lovely, actually. She looked about the rest of the room, her heart slowing; the whole space was decorated in the same way, with the same sort of antique, gaudy beauty, almost like an opera set. It was astounding. The place was rather cluttered with odds and ends, all placed haphazardly, but it had a sort of personality, a forgotten charm which could only be remembered in a place like this.

She turned to find a vanity, all sorts of powders, creams and rouges cluttering the top, and all of them seemed untouched. But what had sparked her interest was the fabric that had been placed over the mirror. Slowly, Lilienne stepped up to it and pulled it away, revealing her reflection. She gasped as she saw the bandages. 

Her hazy memory began to reshape the events of... _how long ago was it? How long have I been down here?_ She wondered as she peeled away the white gauze that had been fastened to her wound, seeing the red gash for the first time. It really wasn't that bad, just a fine line above her left eye, and it was no longer bleeding. 

Then, as she assessed her reflection, she heard the music. The music of an organ, in particular, floated through the curtain that separated the sleeping quarters from whatever was beyond them. She realized that must have been what had woken her.

Slowly, she reached forward and pulled the curtain aside. She took tentative steps through into the rest of the Phantom's dwelling, admiring it's odd sort of beauty and its particular charm; the light of a thousand candles reflected off the vast, glassy lake, sending a shimmering light through the haze of candle smoke. She smiled; nobody but him could live down here, for only his mind could think of something so wonderful, so wonderfully unique.

She looked over to where the music was coming from. An organ sat on a small rise, and the Phantom of the Opera sat at the organ. He kept playing, not noticing her, but she liked that. She sat on a small sofa, stiff from disuse, and listened to his music. She let it relax her and dull the ache in her head. Suddenly, he faltered on the keys, his music stopping.

"Forgive me," he said, "I'm not accustomed to an audience."

"I'm sorry," she began, but he cut her off as he stood sharply from his organ and strode briskly across the room.

"It's all right."

He said just these few words as he pour from a teapot. He picked up a small china teacup and carried it to where she sat. She took it from him, and the warmth felt good in her cold hands; a cool air was coming off the underground lake, chilling the stone that surrounded them. She looked into the cup; milk; and took a skeptical sip; sugar.

"You know how I take my tea?"

" _L'Ange voit; l'Ange sait,"_ he said, offhandedly, and pulled a small phial from his jacket.

" _Ange, qu'est-ce -_ "

"For the headache." Timidly, she held her teacup for him to pour in the clear liquid. "And it goes down best with food."

He turned quickly, before Lilienne had a chance to say anything, and disappeared around a corner. She heard shuffling and a bit of clanging, and soon he reappeared with a small tray. Sitting next to her on the sofa, he placed the tray on the low table in front of them. On top of it were small slices of cake, like none she'd seen before.

Gingerly, she picked up a piece and, seeing the Phantom's eager expression, took a bite. It was spongy, with a distinct coffee flavour that tasted nice against the chocolate glaze; a pleasant surprise.

"This is wonderful."

The Phantom said nothing, just smiled, stood, and returned to his organ. Lilienne sat stiffly, watching his back as he resumed his song as if he'd never left. She finished the piece of cake and sipped her tea to occupy herself. She couldn't even taste whatever it was he had added to it. However, it did work wonders for her head; just a few minutes, and the dull throb was alleviated.

After a few minutes, his music stopped, and Lilienne watched him scribbling on a paper. He went back and forth between playing and penning, and Lilienne watched, mystified as the Angel of Music worked his genius.

"That's quite beautiful," she said while he scratched the notes onto the parchment.

"Thank you. How are you feeling?" he spoke, still focused on his music.

"Much better, but you didn't have to go to all this trouble," she began, but he cut her off as he turned to face her.

"And you didn't have to throw yourself at the end of the Vicomte's sword to save me. Of course I had to. You were hurt on my account, so it is my duty to make sure you are well."

"Duty... yes... " 

She looked into her teacup, an inexplicable disappointment gnawing at her stomach, and she realized she had rather hoped he had _wanted_ to help her, because he cared. The Phantom turned back to his organ.

"Would you like some tea?" 

She asked, a little too hurriedly, as the Phantom turned back to his organ, before he had the chance to tune her out. Lilienne felt uncomfortable under the amused smile that formed behind his mask as he turned back to her.

"That sounds lovely."

Lilienne stood and retrieved the tea tray from the little table on the opposite wall, placing it on the table in front of the sofa as her host joined her. She poured tea into a second dainty cup and watched closely to the amount of milk he poured in — for some reason, she felt like she should remember this detail.

"This cake is delicious," she said suddenly as the silence between them became unbearable. "Where did you find it?"

"You won't find this cake in any _boulangerie_."

"Oh?"

"It's my own recipe. I call it _Gâteau d'Opéra_. The coffee is supposed to help keep the audience awake during the later acts of the operas. Though, I must confess, I'm not as talented a baker as you, C _hèrie_."

"You knew I baked that cake?" she asked, her eyes widening. This movement hurt her forehead slightly. "How did you —?"

"Probably the same way you knew it was I in the carriage."

Lilienne hid her blush behind her teacup, taking a prolonged pull of her tea. There was another silence that wedged itself between them, but this one was less awkward and more comfortable. She relaxed into the steady presence of her host.

"Tell me." His warm voice suddenly echoed off the walls of his cavernous underground dwelling, breaking the silence and taking his guest by surprise.

"About what, _Ange_?"

"About Belle-Lille." She looked up at him, surprised by his question. He noticed her hesitation. "Forgive me, _ma fille_ , I do not mean to pry —"

" _Non, non_..." She waved it off. It had been so long since her days in Belle-Lille, but she figured, for the first time, it was time to recount them.

"I lived with _ma mère_ et _mon père_ in the very same house you saw. Though, they've made some improvements since I lived there; it was one room, and the door used to hang crooked." She laughed nostalgically as she remembered all the little details of her childhood. Each new memory was surprising, since she'd tried so hard to forget after all these years.

"I always knew we were poor, but as a child, it didn't matter to me; we were happy, and that's what was important, even though _papa_ worked three jobs. He picked up a fourth one when _ma mère_ found out she was expecting _ma petite sœur. Maman_ wasn't very pleased, since he was already away so much, but he didn't have a choice. It was the only way to support us all; this was one of many conversations I wasn't supposed to hear.

"I offered to get a job, but _maman_ wouldn't hear of it. Still I looked, and that's when I found an advertisement for the _Opéra Populaire_. It payed well, and was better than churning butter or hanging meat all day. I knew it would make my parents upset, but I also knew I may not have a choice. And when the butter for our bread disappeared from the table, I knew.

"That very same night, I packed a bag and pretended to sleep, and at midnight when all the house slept, I left. I took this with me, from my mother." She removed the locket from where it was tucked under her dress.

"And you came here. But, how did you manage your way from Belle-Lille? The journey's long enough by carriage." She noted his feigned annoyance.

"Sheer will and stubbornness, I suppose. I walked the entire way through the night — it took six hours, but I made it to Paris just as the sun was coming up."

"You walked all that way?" His voice betrayed his disbelief. Lilienne just nodded.

"By the time I found the opera house, I was so tired and so cold that when I knocked on the front doors and nobody answered, I just laid on the steps in my little cape with my little bag. I feared that it might all have been for nothing and that I would die of the cold on those steps. Then, something rather amazing happened — the doors opened."

"Yes, that is what they do."

She laughed, "No, I mean they opened all by themselves; there was no one on the other side. I dragged myself in, and saw one torch light itself in a corridor, so I followed it and ended up in the manager's office. There was no one there, but the fire was lit, a teapot and a loaf of bread on the table next to it."

"I had nearly forgot... but, that was you?" There was wonder in his voice, as if he'd remembered something that should never have been forgotten.

"What do you mean?"

"You're the little girl I let in all those years ago?"

" _You_ opened the doors?" Lilienne very nearly dropped her teacup. "But, why? Why would you help me?"

"I heard you calling... you were a lost child..." he fumbled for words, "... I suppose I just wanted to show you the kindness I wish somebody had shown me."

"Thank you."

"Well, that was all a long time ago —"

"I mean for everything; for letting me in, for giving me lessons, for bringing me here..." 

" _Petite_ , you don't have to —"

"Yes I do. You've been so kind... thank you, _mon Ange_." 

She smiled warmly, and placed her hand atop his. They sat together like this, very still, and Lilienne thought she might burst from the pace of her heart. Suddenly, the Phantom pulled away from her. She stood sharply, readjusted his jacket and cleared his throat. 

"I am not kind." He strode back to his organ, sitting stiffly

" _Mais_ , you are. You brought me here, cared for me." She spoke to his back, and he hesitated at his instrument.

"Why do you refuse to see the monster? Twice, I could have killed you."

"But you didn't. You're not a monster, or a ghost, or even an angel; you are a man. I know, because I've seen him. You are more than what they say about you. They don't know you, at least not the way I do."

He sat, not looking back at her, and she noticed how his shoulders had slumped. _Il doit faire mal... le pauvre homme,_ she thought as she watched him. _Je dois l'aider à voir qu'il n'est pas seul... mais il ne sera jamais seul, s'il a moi._ She was shaken from her thoughts by his soft chuckle.

"Then you really are too naïve for your own good, _mon Chou_." 

"Perhaps I am," she blushed, " _mais, Monsieur de l'Opéra_ , you should not endear me so. It's not proper..." He turned back to her with a teasing smile, and she had to look into her lap from the embarrassing shade of red she had turned.

"No, but it is amusing to watch you blush," he teased, and Lilienne tried to sip her tea without choking.

She sat back in the sofa, cradling her warm tea, letting her eyes fall closed as the Angel of Music worked his magic at his organ. The beautiful music embraced her, very nearly making her forget all about her headache, and the opera, and her life above ground. 

<><<>><>


	19. XVIII. Plots And Counterplots

Lilienne sat on the sofa, eyes gently closed, legs tucked under her, neglecting her cup of tea as the Phantom's music entranced her. In this state of entrancement, she forgot all time; she didn't know how long she'd stayed, but as far as she was concerned she could stay down here forever.

Suddenly, the world was put back in motion and time ticked forward again as his music came to an abrupt halt, replaced by the grating sound of his seat being pushed back. Her eyes flew open to see him stand swiftly, a candle in hand.

" _Eh bien, ma Chère_ , if you are feeling better, I should return you to the land of the living."

Lilienne's heart sank. She would have liked to stay here, with the Phantom, and forget all the worry of the real world. But, she supposed he was right; no doubt Christine would be frantic, knowing she had been with him. _Je ne sais pas pourquoi elle a tellement peur..._

He led her through the labyrinth of damp corridors, and she instinctively took hold of his hand to stay close behind him. She didn't want to stray out of his little circle of light, not down here.

"This is where I leave you," he said as they came to the entrance she knew from the Prima Donna's dressing room.

" _Merci, Monsieur de l'Opéra_."

"Erik."

" _Pardonnez-moi?" s_ he asked, confused by his illogical statement.

"My name... my name is Erik, so you can stop calling me _M. de l'Opéra_."

He spoke hesitantly, and Lilienne couldn't help her feeling of astonishment; the Phantom of the Opera had just confided his very name to her. She blushed as she gazed at him, wide-eyed and tongue-tied, short of her breath.

"You should..." he gestured to the door.

"Oh, yes... I suppose so..."

Lilienne seemed stuck in her place between him and the world. She couldn't seem to turn to face it on the other side of the mirror.

"Thank you, again, for everything... Erik." A small, hopeful smile forced its way onto her lips, which he didn't seem to take notice. 

Lilienne experienced a sense of deflation as he turned on his heel and hurried on his way down the dank corridors, his billowing cape blending into the blackness until it consumed him. She stood there, frozen, as she watched the place where he had been as if willing him to reappear. She fought her feelings that this was wrong, that she should have disappeared with him, that he needed her — she knew that was naïve.

She forced herself to push aside the glass and step into the dressing room, making sure it was firmly closed as to protect his secret dwelling. The feeling of wrong still plagued her, gnawing at her stomach and pricking at her skin; she felt as if she was a foreign object here, out-of-place like a fish on land, and in that moment as she rejoined the ranks of humanity, she knew:

She _didn't_ belong here. She never had. She belonged with the Angel of Music. He _did_ need her, and she needed to show him the truth that only she could see, it seemed. She _was_ out-of-place here, because her place was between the Phantom of the Opera and the rest of the world, protecting him from its cruelty. 

In that moment, she knew. She knew as if she'd always known; she, little Lilienne LaClaire, sweet, quiet, innocent little Lilienne LaClaire was in love with the Phantom of the Opera.

<><<>><>

There is always tension in the _Opéra Populaire_ during the last stages of rehearsals and preparations for a new opera, but now, as they prepared for the Phantom's opera, the tension had reached fever-pitch. Never before had there been this much franticness or anxiety, Lilienne thought as she meandered through the corridors.

She watched them like a stranger, her thoughts remaining beneath the opera house. Unlike Christine's journey to the cavern below them, no one seemed to have noticed Lilienne's absence, and she was grateful — _Raoul and Christine must have made made up some other reason to excuse my absence._ She was relieved, and wanted nothing more than to slip into her bedroom, freshen up, and pretend the last few hours had never happened. _What would they think of me if they knew?_

"Lili!"

She turned to see the couple themselves, looking relieved, and Lilienne's relief instantly faded. _No no no, must they make a fuss?_ Christine hurried forward and pulled her into her arms.

"Thank goodness! We were so worried. What happened to you? Where have you been?" The way she asked this lead Lilienne to believe that Christine knew exactly where she had been.

"Are you alright, Mlle. LaClaire?" the Vicomte asked behind them, genuine concern etched into his expression. "I apologize for your head." 

"It's alright, it was an accident. It looks worse than it is, but my head is perfectly fine. He made sure of that." It was uncharacteristic of her to have such hostility in her voice, but she couldn't hide it.

"He?" Christine's voice was tight, and Lilienne regarded with disgust the look of horror on her face as she placed a hand on the younger girl's shoulder.

"Yes, he was _very_ kind. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to change for rehearsals."

She spoke so pointedly she thought one could likely poke themselves with her tone. She yanked herself from Christine's embrace and stalked off in the direction of her room; she had always been so good at controlling herself, but she couldn't seem to cool the boiling acid in her stomach. 

_How dare they make such horrible assumptions of his treatment of me? He was nothing but a perfect gentleman. How dare they treat him this way?_ she mused as she changed into her practice costume, taking an extra moment to brush some powder over the gash on her forehead to make it less conspicuous — opera performers had a tendency to gossip.

<><<>><>

Lilienne stretched backstage as the whirlpool of people whizzed around her, putting props in their place and setting all the details as there would be no time for such fuss tomorrow night. Admittedly, her head ached as she bent down to touch her toes, but she tried not to let the grimace show on her face.

"We have all been blind," she heard the Vicomte speaking as he walked past her. In a split second, Lilienne was standing straight once more, watched him walk with the managers down the corridor. There was a stream of people following them, and she joined in.

"And yet the answer is staring us in the face. This could be the chance to ensnare our clever friend," he continued.

"We're listening."

"Go on."

The managers were more than eager to hear what their patron had to say, and Lilienne's stomach twisted into a knot — they couldn't possibly be thinking of going against the Phantom, could they?

"We shall play his game, perform his work, but remember we hold the ace; for if Mlle Daaé sings, he is certain to attend." Her heart gave a lurch.

"We are certain the doors are barred."

"We are certain the police are there."

"We are certain they are armed," the Vicomte responded to the managers' enthusiasm.

"The curtain falls — his reign will end!"

Lilienne stopped dead in her tracks, unable to keep her jaw from hanging slack. She was not afraid for her Angel; no, he could take care of himself, and that was what frightened her. His voice rang in her ears.

" _L'Ange voit, l'Ange sait."_

They should know by now that he will be ready for them, that he would have a counter-plot. She only feared what lengths he might go to if they forced his hand; they were only asking for trouble, and she knew they'd get it.

<><<>><>


	20. XIX. The Final Threshold

Lilienne had always loved the the thrilling energy backstage in the minutes before a performance, but tonight, it was as if a shadow had passed over the _Opéra Populaire_. Everyone stood in their positions, shifting nervously between their feet, eyes flicking from person to person in silent anxiety.

Lilienne looked to Christine, who stood like she was made stone. Her eyes were cast downward as if she couldn't bring herself to look up. _Je ne sais pas pourquoi elle a tellement peur..._ Lilienne thought to herself, not for the first time, as she looked at the distraught young woman. _If he loves her, then I don't see why she's so afraid of him. He was so good to me, so I can only imagine how good he would be to her, his Ange de la Musique._

She felt another stab in her stomach, but she didn't have time to dwell on her jealousy as the music started below with a jolt. The first on stage were already out and singing the introduction - Lilienne was surprised the Phantom had given Carlotta any part in his opera. They sang and swayed, acting _ivre_ , though she knew not all of them were acting.

As soon as the intro was over, Lilienne scurried onto the stage, following closely behind Piangi, or Don Juan. She stayed in the back, kneeling on the ground and pretending to scrub; yes, Lilienne LaClaire was the maid. 

All the other women in this opera wore short skirts and low-cut corsets that squeezed their breasts, but Lilienne was wearing a simple, modest frock; from the buttons at her neck to the hem that hung at her ankles, it was loose-fitting as to disguise any curves underneath, as she was the only woman not stuffed into a corset. Her arms were hidden under long sleeves, her hair was hidden beneath a wrap, she wore no makeup, and she felt just a little cheated; surely the Phantom had approved all the costumes.

She wasn't on stage for long, just long enough for Don Juan to don his cape and mask, and set out after the star of this opera. As he and _Passarino_ left the stage through the set, she scurried off stage left.

She let her hand brush comfortingly against Christine's as she passed her, and watched her wander slowly onto the stage, alone. 

_No thoughts within her head but thoughts of joy,_

_No dreams within her heart but dreams of love._

Lilienne stood and watched, agreeing with the _Aminta_. She watched as Don Juan returned to the stage.

_You have come here_

_In pursuit of your deepest urge —_

_In pursuit of that wish which 'til now_

_Has been silent,_

_Silent._

Lilienne's breath caught in her chest. She would recognize that voice anywhere, for no one had a voice quite so beautiful. Her eyes fixed themselves upon him, taller and built much more pleasingly than Piangi. There was a fluttering in her chest.

_I have brought you_

_That our passions may fuse and merge._

_In your mind you've already succumbed to me —_

_Dropped all defenses, completely succumbed to me,_

_Now you are here with me,_

_No second thoughts, you've decided,_

_Decided._

_Of course_ , she thought, chastising herself for not realizing, _I should have known. He would never leave Don Juan in the hands of anyone other than himself. He would never merely watch his opera. They've gotten it all wrong._ But she wasn't surprised. She had known he would outsmart them; he always had.

_Past the point of no return,_

_No backward glances —_

_Our games of make-believe are at an end._

Lilienne watched Christine turn away from him, an unmistakable look of panic on her face as he slowly drew nearer and nearer to her, his prey.

_Past all thought of if, or when,_

_No use resisting —_

_Abandon thought and let the dream descend._

The Phantom leapt at her, wrapping her possessively in his arms, his hands tracing her neck. Something inside Lilienne let out a low growl.

What raging fire shall flood the soul,

What rich desire unlocks its door,

What sweet seduction lies before us?

The word seduction caused Lilienne's hands to squeeze themselves into fists and set her stomach boiling again. _This isn't fair... not to me, not to her, not to him..._

_Past the point of no return,_

_The final threshold —_

_What warm unspoken secrets will we learn_

_Beyond the point of no return?_

She saw Christine shake her head and look at the floor as she pulled the sleeves of her dress back up onto her shoulders, and she could hear the hesitation and disdain in her voice.

_You have brought me_

_To that moment where words run dry —_

_To that moment where speech disappears into silence,_

_Silence._

_C'est vrai_ , she thought, slowly running out of breath as she watched the display in front of her, _c'est trop vrai_. _Il n'y a pas des mots_. 

She saw Christine lift her head, and with a skip of her heart, she knew; she was giving Raoul the signal. She grabbed hold of a beam and leaned as far out as she could, trying to get as close as she could without being seen.

_I have come here,_

_Hardly knowing the reason why._

_In my mind I've already imagined our bodies entwining, defenseless and silent —_

_Now I am here with you,_

_No second thoughts, I've decided,_

_Decided._

There was a change of mood in this last verse; Christine turned to face the Phantom and sang to him, and only him. It takes one to know one. Christine let the delicate sleeves fall off her shoulders, exposing her smooth, pale skin. And, as she faced him, Lilienne swore she saw her give him the slightest of nods, and she watched the expression change on Erik's face as he, as everyone realized; Christine wasn't acting.

_Past the point of no return,_

_No_ _going back now —_

_Our passion play has now at last begun._

She turned and slowly walked upstage to the set of spiraling stairs, and the Phantom readily followed her. Lilienne had to lean father to keep them within her sight. She dared not blink, she dared not breathe.

_Past all thought of right or wrong,_

_One final question —_

_How long should we two wait before we're one?_

_When will the blood begin to race,_

_The sleeping bud burst into bloom,_

_When will the flames at last consume us?_

The two of them had reached the top of the stairs, and tears began to burn threateningly in Lilienne's eyes as she watched the Phantom shed his cape and grab hold of Christine as his voice became one with hers.

_Past the point of no return,_

_The final threshold._

_The bridge is crossed so stand and watch it burn;_

_We've passed the point of no return._

Everything became very quiet as they stood at the top of the set, the Phantom holding Christine as he'd always longed to. To vindicate the hot tears that stung behind her eyes, Lilienne's throat tightened painfully. Her mind briefly drifted to Raoul, thinking that there was one other person who understood what she felt in this moment. _This is not fair... it should be me... I should have sung that duet with him; after all, I sung it first... it should be me up there._

But, the moment wasn't over. The Phantom would have the last word, as usual, and she heard his voice begin to sing a part she hadn't heard before. He must've added it later.

_Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime,_

_Lead me, save me from my solitude._

_I would have... I will_ , Lilienne thought as her own mind echoed his words. She fought the urge to sink to the ground as she watched Christine melt into him.

_Say you'll want me with you here, beside you,_

He turned her around, and Lilienne leaned yet farther out to watch him gaze down at the beautiful soprano. She placed her hand gently on his face.

_Anywhere you go, let me go to,_

_Christine, that's all I ask of —_

The hand Christine caressed him with then suddenly cut him short as it pulled the mask from his face. The audience shrieked at the sight of the deformity beneath; the skin on the right side of his face was discoloured and sagged in uneven bumps. On the same half, his nose was stretched flat to his face, the skin under his eye drooped, and his hair was significantly thinner on the habitually covered side of his head.

And as he and Christine dropped from the set, falling to Lord-only-knows-where, the tears sprung from her eyes and streamed freely down her face. _How could she do this to him?_

"Christine, you stupid girl..." she said aloud, but no one could hear amidst the screams.

The strings of jewels on the grand chandelier trembled as it began to pull loose, and everyone ran desperately from the theater as it came crashing down on their heads. It landed with a great, shattering smash, fire bursting forth around it. The flames breathed and grew, ravaging the opera house. The sea of people ran every which way, and Lilienne was pulled into a frantic backstage.

"Where have they gone!" the Vicomte shouted above the commotion.

"Come with me, _Monsieur!_ I will take you to him!"

The mysterious Mme Giry led their patron down the corridor, and Lilienne made to follow, but she couldn't force her way past the dense crowd of performers as Meg barred their way. Lilienne watched desperately as Raoul disappeared with Mme Giry.

"What do you think you're doing!? We've got to go down there!" someone called to Meg from in the crowd, but in this frenzy, it was impossible to tell who.

"Yeah! He must be found!"

"Track down this murderer!"

As the others joined in the chant, Lilienne slipped back through the crowd. She would have to find her own way down, and she would have to do it quickly if she was going to beat the vengeful mob.

She ran, discarding her hair wrap and her restricting frock so she was just in her light under-dress, hoping it would help her to move faster. Her heart racing, she finally reached the Prima Donna's dressing room. As soon as she'd sealed herself inside, she exhaled in relief, all the panic sealed outside. She turned to face the mirror.

With a great heave she pushed the glass aside, the cold air from the tunnels beyond engulfing her. This was it, this in front of her was the final threshold. Holding her breath, she passed through.

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	21. XX. Down Once More

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short, but I hope sweet.  
> Well, not sweet, but... oh, you know what I mean.

Lilienne ran lightly on her dancer's feet, her hands trailing across the cold, damp, cavernous walls, feeling her way along through the dark; she didn't know where she was going, nor where his traps might lay, but she knew one thing. she had to get to him.

She ran, her eyes eventually beginning to adjust to the obscurity of his secret passageways. She had not yet heard the chants of the Paris Opera echo behind her, and this kindled a small flame of hope in her — maybe she wasn't too late. 

Suddenly, the ground dropped out from under her feet. She let out a scream as the sensation of falling overtook her, and in an instant, a rush of cold water cut her cries short. She came up sputtering, gasping for air as water flowed down her face and into her mouth.

A loud clank that sounded from above her. A low, metallic grinding followed, and she looked up where she floundered, the water streaming into her eyes. Above her was a heavy metal grate, and it was coming closer by the second. _Ciel... it's going to drown me!_

"Erik..." she called.

"Erik!" The groaning of the mechanism drowned out her voice, which was already feeble from the effort of staying afloat.

" _Erik! S'il vous plaît, aidez-moi! Erik!!_ "

By now, the grate was almost upon her. Lilienne reached up and grabbed, the water rising slowly around her.

" _C'est moi! C'est moi! Fantôme, aide-moi!_ " The water sloshed around her neck and splashed up her jaw. " _Erik! Erik! Fantôme de l'Opéra —_ "

She inhaled sharply as the grate pushed her under, submerging her in her tomb. A watery grave. _J'ai essay_ _é_ _si fort à te libérer. Peut-être Christine choisira bien. Erik, mon amour..._

Her last thoughts faded out of her mind. Lilienne's chest felt tight, and her lungs screamed for air. Her hands which held the grate felt weak. Her head felt light. The water felt like velvet around her, and it no longer seemed so cold. It encroached upon her body, in her eyes, in her nose, in her mouth, dripping down her throat —

There was a second loud clank, just like the first, the sound distorted under the water. She could feel some force wrap itself around her, the water rush about her, and with great splash of water, she was heaved over the edge.

Lilienne immediately began to cough the water out of her chest, replacing it with dank air. She lay on the cold ground, sputtering for disgrace of her dignity. She could hear, as he senses became less logged with lake water, another body breathing heavily close by. She opened her eyes, the world around her blurry from the water that still flooded them. But she would recognize him anywhere.

" _Erik —_ " she croaked.

" _Tu ne devrais pas être ici,"_ he cut her off, his deep voice resonating through the underground corridors with a new hoarseness she wasn't used to.

" _Je devais venir_... _tu ne sais pas que je devais_... ?"

She spoke, her own voice hoarse from screaming for her life and the amount of water she had swallowed. She lifted herself onto her elbow, looking up at him as the water cleared from her eyes. She saw him as he pulled into focus, still partially clad in his costume with the sleek trousers and the white shirt that opened to reveal his bare chest underneath. What he wasn't wearing was his mask, and this was the first good look she'd gotten.

" _Fille stupide... tu ne devrais pas_ _être ici_ ," he repeated before turning and stalking back the way she assumed was his lair.

" _Ange, attends —_ "

" _Allez-vous en! Retourne chez toi!_ "

The echo of this last, rasping request was all that was left of him as he abandoned her in the tunnels. Lilienne scrambled to her feet; she would not go home, not when he needed her. Even if he didn't know he did. She would not give up on him so easily. He needed to see, he needed to know. She hurried, following the direction he had taken.

It wasn't as far as she had thought. It seemed to be only a few minutes of wandering before she stumbled into a part of the catacombs she recognized. She reached a ledge, nothing but the vast, glassy lake below her. This was the place he tied his boat when he'd brought her back. Slowly, Lilienne lowered herself onto the damp stone ground, hanging her slender legs off the edge.

She slipped into the water that rose to her waist. She felt her way carefully with her feet, following the way the Phantom's home. 

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Perhaps I'll upload another chapter later today to make up for this one being so short ;)


	22. XXI. Neither Phantom Nor Angel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies! Just checking in, since this is the third-to-last chapter. I hope you've enjoyed it so far. Please stay safe and healthy!  
> ~ J

Lilienne waded through the murky water, only the few torches that hung on the stone walls to light her way. She followed the watery path the Phantom had led her down when he'd returned her to the world above.

She heard shouts echoing up ahead; that must mean that Raoul had indeed found his way back to Christine. And the Lord above only knew what Erik might do. _The Vicomte should have learned his lesson the first time_. Lilienne's pace quickened.

Finally, she came around one last bend. A metal blockade stood in her way; the Vicomte was strung up on it. Lilienne pulled back into hiding, hearing the Vicomte's grunts, Christine's pleas, and Erik's angered shouts; her heart broke as she listened to the Angel's distress.

Following the craggy walls of stone, she found a crack, just big enough for a small girl such as herself to fit through. Holding her breath to make herself as small as possible, she wedged herself into it, squeezing through into the candlelight. She splashed through the water, headed towards the commotion.

_"This is the choice! This is the point of no return!!"_

"Please, tell me you don't believe that." 

The softness of her voice stood out against the harsh shouts, drawing their attention to her; all three of them looked at her in horrified surprise.

"Lili!" Christine called.

"You should not have come here," Raoul choked from within in his noose.

"I told you to leave." Erik was the last to address her, anger pricking his voice. "Have you come to save the precious couple from the demon disguised as an Angel?"

"I came to save _you_. The opera, they're coming to find you — they're calling for your blood. Erik, you must leave. Please." She stepped forward, her eyes pleading. He looked at her outstretched hand.

"I can not leave this place... not unless she comes with me." 

He shifted his gaze to Christine, who Lilienne noticed had replaced her costume with a white gown. She looked bewildered, and Lilienne could see the candlelight reflect off the tears that rolled down her cheeks.

_"The tears I might have shed for your dark fate grow cold and turn to tears of hate."_

Lilienne felt tears begin to prick her own eyes as she listened to the Angel's favourite pupil. _How can she dare to say that, after everything he has done for her, everything he's given to her?_

" _Erik, non —_ " She took a step towards him as he turned to retrieve more rope, grabbing his arm, but he ignored her as he shook his other pupil off.

" _Christine, forgive me, please forgive me_..." Lilienne now looked to the Vicomte as he begged for his love's forgiveness in his last moments. The Phantom approached him again.

" _Tu ne dois pas faire cela..._ " Lilienne pleaded with him. He did not hear her over whatever monster was inside his head.

" _Too late for turning back, too late for prayers and useless pity!"_

"It's not too late, Erik —" She was still ignored as she tried to save him from himself.

" _Say you love him and my life is over —_ " Raoul tried to convince his _fiancée_ to save herself, but the Phantom only pulled the ropes tighter. Lilienne moved towards him with a gasp. She couldn't let him do this. " _For either way you choose, you cannot win —_!"

"There has to be another way!" she called into the mess.

" _So do you end your days with me, or do you send him to his grave!?"_ The Phantom cut the Vicomte off with a hard pull on the ropes that strangled him.

" _Pour l'amour de Dieu_ , when does it end!?" Lilienne cried, her voice echoing though the caverns. Everything went silent. All three sets of eyes were on her now. She looked to her Angel.

"This is madness. You don't have to do this, Erik. You are more than all this — I've seen the man inside you. There has to be another way..."

"Please, Lili, he won't see reason," Christine spoke to her. Lilienne looked up at the girl in the wedding gown.

"He gave you everything, and yet you still betray him. When did you stop believing in your Angel?"

"If the opera is calling for his blood, then you should let them come. Don't waste your efforts on this monster —" Raoul struggled to speak against the ropes that dug into his throat. The Phantom pulled them tighter; he would not bear these insults.

"No!" Lilienne screamed, throwing herself onto the rope to counter his actions. She struggled against his strength. "I've come to save him from the mob, but I've also come to save him from himself!"

As soon as she'd said this, the Phantom let the rope go slack, looking down at her with wide eyes. The rope trailed through her hands as she took tentative steps closer, speaking softly.

"You're not a Phantom, or an Angel. I look at you now, and all I see is Erik."

" _Angel of Music_ ," Christine's voice cut in from behind them, " _you deceived me. I gave you my mind blindly_."

" _You try my patience. Make your choice,_ " Erik responded, growing frustrated. Lilienne feared what he might be driven to do in this state.

"No, it doesn't have end this way..." 

Lilienne stepped forward, hesitantly placing her hand on his shoulder. He tossed it aside. The whole space was silent, save for the soft sounds of the lake lapping at the rocky shore of the lair. All eyes were on Christine, now. They awaited with baited breath her decision.

" _Pitiful creature of darkness, what kind of life have you known_?" She stepped into the water, the hem of her dress billowing around her as she walked slowly towards Erik. " _God give me courage to show you you are not alone..._ "

She approached her Angel of Music, slipping a ring onto her finger, putting her hand on his chest, and placing her lips on his.

Lilienne exhaled a sigh of relief — Erik had finally gotten everything he'd ever wanted. He could finally be happy, now, and safe with Christine. Yet, despite this happy ending, she still felt as if a part of her heart had been ripped out. The rope slipped from her hands, disappearing under the water, as she watched her kiss him again, her hand now caressing his face; if Christine had chosen to stay, Lilienne knew that Erik really didn't need her, anymore.

When Christine finally pulled away, she looked up at him hopefully with her lovely watery doe eyes. The Phantom looked back down upon her, tears falling down his face for joy. But then, Lilienne watched his expression change, the happiness draining from his face, and the tears of joy turning to tears of sadness again. 

" _Hunt out this animal!"_

" _Too long he's preyed on us!"_

She looked behind, panic rising in her chest. When Lilienne had turned back, the Phantom was already stumbling out of the lake. Christine ran to Raoul's aid, working out the knots that bound him to the grate. But Lilienne waded through the water after the Angel, reaching out and taking hold of his arm.

"Erik —"

" _Take her — forget me — forget all of this —"_ Still, he pulled away from her, retreating into his lair, " _leave me alone — forget all you've seen —_ "

"Don't speak such nonsense."

Lilienne held her ground, her feet planted to the bottom of the lake. Tears burned in her eyes as she watched him in bewilderment, desperate to make him listen, to hear her. He was asking her to leave, but how could she? A gentle hand held her back; Lilienne turned to see Christine standing next to her, pleading with those big eyes.

"Lili, come with us. You can start a new life. He we will no longer be there singing songs in your head."

" _Go now — don't let them find you!"_ Erik called to them. _"Take the boat — leave me now — swear never to tell the secrets you know of the Angel in hell!"_

_"Erik, non —! S'il te plaît, entends moi —"_

"Lili..." Christine's voice was gentle, and she placed her hand on Lilienne's face, "come with us." 

Lilienne looked between her and Raoul, who nodded as if to agree with his _finacée,_ then to the caverns beyond the lair where the others were coming. Then, she looked up to Erik, her eyes pleading one last time.

" _Go now!"_ he ordered. " _Go now and leave me!"_

" _Erik, non..._ " She shook her head, watching desperately as he disappeared into his lair. She made to move after him, but Christine held her back.

"Lili..."

Her voice urged her to look away from her Angel. Slowly, she pulled the young dancer by the hand in the direction of the boat that the Vicomte was untying. Though every fibre of her being resisted it, she took the hand that he offered her and stepped in hesitantly.

"Wait." Christine stepped back, refusing the hand he offered her, next. "There's something I must do first."

"Christine," he pleaded.

"Please trust me, Raoul." Lilienne watched her place her hand on his face and give him a weak smile. She waited for his curt nod before disappearing after the Angel.

Lilienne and the Vicomte waited in silence, the only noise to disturb them the growing echoes of the mob. She sat, huddled in the boat, wringing her hands as guilt wrung through her; _I'm no better than all the others_ , she thought, with a hint of nausea. 

"I must say, Mlle. LaClaire," the Vicomte's voice shook her from her thoughts, "I never would have suspected you, of all people, to have known the Phantom of the Opera."

"Believe me, _M. le Vicomte_ , I never would have suspected it, myself." The two of them laughed uncomfortably, and she noticed him cast a nervous glance towards the lair. An angered pin pricked her.

"You must really love Mlle. Daaé to have risked so much."

"I do. But you don't think I should have, do you?" He had noticed her bitterness, and called her out on it.

"I think," she began slowly, choosing her words with the utmost care, "that Christine was his _grâce salvatrice_."

Suddenly, there was a sloshing behind the boat, and Lilienne turned to see Christine's return. The Vicomte helped her in, and she leaned in and kissed him. Lilienne dropped her gaze, her anger still burning inside her. _The Angel gave you everything he had — I hope your Vicomte is worth it._

Raoul took hold of the pole as Christine clung to him, and Lilienne huddled in the front of the boat as he steered it away from the lair — the dungeon — and the chants of death. He steered the Phantom's little boat towards their freedom.

The farther away they drifted from the Angel of Music, the louder the thought echoed in her mind; their games of make-believe were at an end:

_C'est fini, maintenant, la musique de la nuit._

<><<>><>


	23. XXII. The Truth Behind The Mask

Raoul and Christine drifted down the lake in the small boat, Lilienne huddled in front of them. As they moved farther away from the lair, the shouts of the mob grew fainter and fainter until the three of them sat in silence. The only sound was that of the pole sloshing through the water as the Vicomte steered them.

_Perhaps this isn't so bad_ , Lilienne thought as they drifted, _everyone gets what they want; the Opéra Populaire is rid of the ghost that haunts them, and Christine is free from his prying eyes to be with the love of her life._

Lilienne wasn't sure what she was supposed to do, now. She could wait until the opera was rebuilt and resume her position in the _corps de ballet._ She could return to Belle-Lille and her family. _But I fear that they have not forgiven me for leaving_. She could go somewhere far away and find a little home by the sea, where she would watch the sun set into the ocean every night. But, these all seemed to be tainted with grey. All of them felt wrong, as if there was no more life left for her above ground. _Why must I leave?_

In that moment, it was as if a cloud had cleared out of her head. It _was_ wrong to leave. It _was_ right for her to be down here, with Erik. And she realized with a rush of joy that it wasn't too late.

She jumped to her feet, causing the boat to rock tediously. "Stop!"

Raoul dug the pole in to the ground, bringing the boat to a halt, and the two of them looked at her in bewilderment.

"What is it? What's wrong?" he asked, his brow furrowing.

" _This_ is wrong..."

"Lili?" Christine mirrored the Vicomte's concern.

"I should never have left. You chose your Vicomte over your Angel, which is why he needs _me_. I'm sorry, but I'm afraid I can not go with you."

She gave them a smile before jumping out of the boat. She landed with a splash in the waist-deep water, looking back the way they'd come. _I'm not leaving you, Erik. Never again_. The smile remained on her lips as she headed back towards the lair, moving as fast as she could through the water.

"Lilienne," Christine's voice echoed behind her. She turned. "Look after him."

She nodded before turning back, taking a deep breath as she plunged into the dark tunnels; she was on a mission, now — a mission to save the Phantom of the Opera.

The dark water slowed her considerably, yet her desperation to reach him on time spurred her onward. The water sloshed around her and splashed up her body as she stumbled through it, dim torch-light illuminating her way. Then, as she drew nearer to his dwelling, the voices of the bloodthirsty mob lead her along. Her heart raced, and the panic that had originated in the pit of her stomach was now climbing up her throat.

Finally, she saw the entrance to the lair, and Erik had left his door wide open. She ran in, casting a glance behind her. They were close. Very close.

"Erik?"

Glass cracked underfoot as she passed the smashed mirrors. She saw his organ with music strewn all about, just as always. She saw the Christine mannequin, missing its dress. She saw his music box with the little Persian monkey. And beside this music box, she saw his white mask with its fixed expression of anger; how different it looked, lying there on the table amidst the other inanimate objects. 

"Lilienne?"

Suddenly, there were voices behind her, and she whipped around to see the cast and crew of the _Opéra Populaire_ entering the lair, accompanied by _les gendarmes_ with their rifles. Torches flickered among the mob, reflecting off their expressions of surprise. Meg ran forward, pulling her into an embrace, which Lilienne returned halfheartedly.

"Thank goodness you're alright!" She pulled away with a look of panic. "He hasn't hurt you, has he?"

"No, of course not."

"What has he done with Christine?"

"She's fine. She and the Vicomte are gone. The next you hear of her, I expect she'll be Madame de Chagny."

"And the Phantom of the Opera?"

"He's gone." 

Her face fell as her voice dropped to flatness. She watched as they all began to climb ashore, searching for the masked menace. They tore down curtains that partitioned off his lair, they shoved the sheets of music off the tables and the organ; papers to flutter about everywhere. Something inside Lilienne growled as she watched them tear apart Erik's home.

"You won't find him," she continued. "He'll be long gone by now. He's probably already left the city. Only a fool would stay, and he is no fool." 

"Are you helping him?" 

One man, torch in hand, stepped forward. If she was correct, he had worked in lighting alongside Joseph Buquet — Jean Buquet, his very brother.

"Are you accusing me?" she retorted.

"That man's a murderer! He killed Joseph!" 

Others jeered in agreement. Lilienne inhaled deeply; now was not the time to be little Lili, the book-reading background dancer. Now she needed to do what she'd avoided doing for nearly ten years. It was time to stand up to the _Opéra Populaire_.

"Joseph shouldn't have pried. He knew the consequences. His death is on his own conscience."

"Are you defending this monster!?" They were beginning to turn on her, now, gathering behind Jean.

"Haven't you hurt him enough?"

"Too long he's preyed on us; he's terrorized us, killed our own! He must die!" Everyone called out their support, thrusting fists and torches into the air.

"Hounded out by everyone, met with hatred everywhere, no kind words from anyone, no compassion anywhere... why?" she asked, tears burning in her eyes.

"Because he's evil. He's a monster —"

"He was bound and chained in this cold and dismal place, not for any mortal sin, but the wickedness of his abhorrent face! Why should he have shown you compassion when the world showed no compassion to him!?"

The crowd was beginning to quiet, now. Torches were slowly being lowered, and eyes lifted to watch her; it wasn't like Lilienne to take authority, to have power. She looked down upon them all, disgust rising in her stomach.

"If you'd all minded your own business, none of this would have happened. He never wanted anyone to get hurt, but you forced his hand. All he wanted was respect. Appreciation. He is a genius, and a brilliant musician — none of you can deny that. Yet, all of you denied him the one most important thing."

"And what might that be?" Jean asked, amusement tainting his voice.

"Love." 

They all laughed at this. Lilienne yelled above them.

"He only wanted someone — just one person — who could look upon him without fear. If you can imagine what that must be like, then by all means, stay and see his end. But, if you cannot, then you should leave this place."

The laughter stopped, and everyone looked amongst themselves. Lilienne could see the flashes of shame in their gazes, and she had to hide the smirk that tempted her lips.

"If he is a monster," she continued, her own voice rising above the silence, "then it is because you have made him one."

The members of the crowd all looked between each other. All the their torches were hanging low, with the exception of Jean's which was now a lone beacon of their vengeance. All those who had before joined in his cries for blood were now creeping back through the water.

Lilienne suddenly felt like she could breath. A sensation of joy spread through her chest, and the tears that burned in her eyes were no longer tears of desperation and sadness, but tears of happiness. She withheld them as she watched the crowd thin out, its members dwindling one by one. 

She felt a hand squeeze her shoulder; she turned to see Meg, and the two girls exchanged a smile. The elder ballerina stepped gracefully back down into the water, and Lilienne watched her tug on Jean Buquet's arm. He cast one last spiteful look to Lilienne before turning and following the others out, back up to the surface.

It was only when the last echoes of the last stragglers sloshing through the water had faded that Lilienne collapsed onto the ground. She sunk to her knees with a sharp intake of air, breathing heavily; _I just faced a bloodthirsty mob_. 

And she had won. 

She knew, now, that Erik would be safe. She only hoped that he was far away from here, where he could begin anew. Yet, deep within her heart, she selfishly wished he might return.

Would he?

<><<>><>

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter, because the next will be the last  
> If you're reading this, then I love you for sticking around. I hope the final installment of Of Phantoms And Angels doesn't disappoint.  
> Much love to all ~ J


	24. XXIII. Fin

The soft sound of water sloshing against the shore echoed through the cavernous space, the haze of candlelight reflecting off the ripples and sending patterns of light dancing across the uneven stone walls. 

The quiet tap-tap of Lilienne's shoes was the only other sound to fill the empty lair. She moved slowly about the Phantom's things; there were so many beautiful objects that cluttered the place, giving it a sort of haphazard charm. She let her hand trail over them as she made her progress; she felt the sheets of music, marble busts, lengths of luxurious fabric.

She didn't know how long it had been since the mob had left. She didn't know if she should leave, as well; after all, she knew not whether Erik would return, and it tore her in two - part of her wanted him to stay away from this wretched place, but the other part wished him to be there with her. She passed through his lair, the only sounds to break the silence the sloshing of water and the tapping of her shoes.

As she moved along, her hand came to the music box with the little monkey. She took hold of winding it, and the little monkey played his symbols as the box played its song. It was a cheerful tune that made Lilienne smile. 

Her smile faded as her eyes drifted to the object sitting next to it; the stark white, vicious mask. A sadness weighed on her as she placed her slender fingers on it, picking it up. Her thumb caressed the cheekbone as she stared into its eye.

_Past the point of no return..._

She sang quietly, her solitary voice bouncing off the walls and filling the empty space. Somehow, it made Lilienne feel less alone. 

_The final threshold —_

_The bridge is crossed, so stand and watch it burn;_

_We've past the point of no —_

Lilienne's voice silenced itself as a second one joined in the last line. She spun on her heel with a gasp to look into the deformed face of Erik. Her Angel.

"— return." He spoke the last word, looking back at her with a mix of anticipation, hope, and skepticism, equaling her own. They looked over each other over like they were seeing them for the first time. Silence stretched between them as their eyes searched one another.

"You're back."

"You're still here." His voice was quiet, almost inaudible, but she could still hear the undertone of disbelief, as if he was seeing a ghost.

"Of course I am. I said I wouldn't leave, Erik." 

Lilienne gave him a small, hopeful smile. She watched, her smile dissolving as his eyes lowered to rest on the mask, still in her hand. He regarded her nervously as she took tentative steps closer to him, raising her arm.

"I hope," she began slowly as she held it out to him, "that someday, you won't feel that you need this."

He took it from her silently, averting his gaze as if he was too ashamed to look upon her. He turned and began to retreat into the depths of his lair, leaving her to stand there.

"Erik," she blurted out his name in a hurry. He stopped, his back to her, and she tried to hide her nervousness as she spoke to him.

"I won't leave."

He stood there for a moment, completely still, and she thought she saw his shoulders seize up as she said this. He took in a deep breath, his head turned slightly towards her, and it seemed as if he might say something. She took another step closer.

"Erik..." 

"Why?" he rasped.

"Why what?"

"Why would you condemn yourself to an eternity of _this_?" Even though he was turned away from her, she she saw him gesture to his face.

"Because this is where I belong — with you, to show you your real worth, as you showed me mine. My place is between you and the world." She spoke gently, taking the final steps towards him and slowly reaching to grasp his arm.

"You think it is your solemn duty to protect the world from this monster?" He pulled away from her again and stalked toward the dark nook of his bedchamber. 

" _Non, Erik._ To protect you from the world." He stopped again, his shoulders heaving as he breathed, his hands tightening into fists. "To show you that they are wrong. That you are not a monster. That you're not alone."

She walked up to him again. He flinched as she placed her hand on his shoulder, but this time, he did not pull away. Lilienne took in a deep breath as she spoke again.

"To show you that there is someone who does care, someone who... can love you."

" _She_ was the only one who would listen, and now she's gone. If she could not love this repulsive face..." he took in a deep breath "...then there is no one who can." 

He made to pull away again, but Lilienne held him fast, forcing him to face her. She placed both hands on his shoulders, holding him at arm's length and looking up into his watery eyes.

"Christine loved you," she said around the lump in her throat, "but she also feared you. She could not see past your mask, but I can. I always have, Erik. I've never been afraid of you."

She squeezed her eyes shut as tears burned in them, and she felt his nervous hands grasp her waist. He lowered her head to meet hers, their foreheads pressed together as he sobbed in earnest, now. Lilienne spoke, her voice tight with the strain of tears.

"What I told you was true. When I look at you, I don't see a Phantom or an Angel. All I see is the Man; Erik; a beautiful, broken man who needs somebody to make him whole again. _That_ is why I am here, and that is why I will never, ever leave you."

She opened her eyes and looked up into his dampened face. She ran her hands from his shoulders up to his cheeks, wiping away the tears that streamed down them.

"I see the man you really are," she said, smiling, holding his face in her hands, "and I will show him to you."

He was looking down at her, as if searching her. Assessing her. He seemed nervous, hesitant, unsure; _he's holding back. He still doesn't want to trust me_ , she thought with increasing despair. Lilienne dropped her gaze, his nervousness and hesitation stirring her own.

"I know I'm not Christine, but —"

Suddenly, his lips crashed into hers. She could barely breath around his mouth that he pressed firmly against hers, and he held her so tightly that she could barely move. It took her by surprise, and all she could do was grasp the collar of his shirt. But slowly, she felt herself melting into him, returning his kisses more eagerly with each one.

"Erik —" she pulled her head back with a gasp for air, her heart aching because she knew _his_ heart hadn't been in it. 

"You're reeling from Christine. This isn't really what you want." His grip on her relaxed as she explained to him, and she moved away, both of them breathing a little heavily. Erik looked horrified.

"Lili, I'm sorry —"

"Erik, please, don't apologize... not to me, anyway." She gave him a playful smirk. "When you learn to let her go, I'll be waiting."

She wasn't sure, but she could have sworn that, for a brief second, the Phantom of the Opera had blushed.

Lilienne turned, walking slowly to another curtained corner of the lair. Her internal clock told her that it was late, and it had been a long day; opening nights, kidnappings, angry mobs, they were all very tiring. She would need to find some blankets to make up a bed for herself, but before any of that, she turned back. She smiled to Erik, who stood in his place as if fixated, staring after her.

" _Bonne nuit, mon Ange_."

He stared at her, a look of wonder fixed on his face. He blinked, bewildered, before speaking to her again.

" _Bonne nuit, ma chère_."

She looked back at him a moment longer, smiling. Then, she left him standing there as she disappeared behind the partition to get some sleep, knowing that tomorrow was the first day of her life. Her life with the Phantom of the Opera.

_Exeunt_

_~_

_Fin_

_< ><<>><>_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I appreciate the hell out of anybody who pulled through to the end. I wish I could give YOU all of the kudos.  
> There is a sequel to Mademoiselle LaClaire's story. I don't know when it's coming, but it is.
> 
> Much love and gratitude ~ Lady J <3 <3


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